A New Kind of Royal -- Christ the King Sunday

John 18:33-38

November 25, 2018

            This may be a very big, very wrong assumption on my part, but I suspect that everyone here as at least heard about a certain prince who married a certain commoner last May. If my assumption is wrong – not everyone is as obsessed with them as I am – and you don’t know who I’m referring to, I’ll fill you in. Prince Harry, second son of Prince Charles and fifth in line of succession to the throne of England, married Megan Markle last May. Some of you may not care that Prince Harry and Megan Markle got married, and that’s perfectly fine. But I would be surprised if you didn’t know at least a little about them, because for one thing their wedding was all over the news. Even more, it would be hard to have missed their wedding because Megan Markle is not your typical royal. What has been so surprising and so refreshing about this royal marriage is not just that it happened, but because of who Markle is.

She is American – that should have been strike one. She is divorced – that should have been strike two. And she is of a multi-cultural background. Her mother is African American. Her father is white. That should have definitely been strike three. Once upon a time, any one of those factors would have completely and utterly knocked Markle out of the running to be royal. It has not been that many years since Prince Harry’s great uncle abdicated his throne because he was not allowed to marry his divorced American squeeze. Yes, I said, “squeeze.”

It takes permission from the Queen for a royal to marry, and she gave her grandson permission to marry this divorced American with a multi-cultural heritage. Times are a changing, and those changes are even being felt in England’s monarchy. While it would seem that most people have accepted, even embraced, Megan as a new kind of royal – after all their wedding was watched by millions of people around the globe, including yours truly – her marriage into the royal family was not welcomed by everyone. One comment that was made by a person connected with the British government was that Markle would “taint the royal blood line with her seed, making way for a black king and a Muslim Prime Minister.” I’m not making this up. I wish I were. But Megan Markle is a different kind of royal. She is a new kind of royal; one that doesn’t fit the previous mold of who a royal was and where a royal came from.

If anyone did not fit the mold of what it meant to be a royal, it would be Jesus. He was a new kind of royal indeed. Our passage from John’s gospel may seem unexpected this morning. The meeting between Jesus and Pontius Pilate is one we expect to hear during Holy Week, but on Christ the King Sunday this exchange between Pilate and Jesus rings true and relevant.

The religious authorities did not have the power to have someone executed. That was up to the Roman state. That is why Pilate was brought in. These same leaders could also not enter Pilate’s headquarters without becoming ritually unclean. So they had Jesus taken to Pilate, but would not be there to witness the conversation between the two men. The religious leaders wanted Pilate to do their dirty work for them.

Pilate must have understood this, and I imagine that if we could go back in time and listen in, we would hear his understanding in his tone of voice.

“Are you the King of the Jews?” might sound more like, “So you’re the King of the Jews, are you?”

Jesus, ever aware of the verbal traps laid for him, would not give him a direct answer in return.

“Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?”

King of the Jews would have meant something different to the religious leaders than it would have to Pilate. To Pilate, a King of the Jews would have been a political threat, a potential political upstart. A King rising from the Jews might have been someone poised to revolt against Roman rule and threaten not only Pilate’s position of power, but Roman power as well.

            But the religious leadership, those priests and scribes, saw the claim of Jesus being the King of the Jews as someone believed to be anointed as Messiah. Jesus was not just claiming to be another kind of religious authority; he was claiming to be the authority. He was the Truth, the Way, the Life. This was also a threat to their power. From both perspectives, from Pilate’s and from the religious leadership, this threat had to be eradicated. If there were going to be a King of the Jews, it could certainly not be this particular man, this very different, unexpected, very new kind of royal.

            Jesus was definitely a new and, to some, an unwelcome kind of royal. His royalty was what Pilate was trying to get at with his interrogation of him.

            When Jesus responded with his question about who told Pilate about Jesus’ kingship, Pilate answered,

            “I’m not a Jew am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?”

            Jesus still did not give him a straight or satisfactory answer. Instead he said,

            “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”

            Pilate just wants an answer.

            “So you are a king?”

            “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

            “What is truth?”

            My kingdom is not from this world. Jesus was a new kind of royal, and his kingdom was a new kind of realm. Jesus’ answer was not so much about who he was, but about where he was from. His kingship and his identity as king was and is tied up in where Jesus came from, more specifically who he came from.

            My kingdom is not from this world. That means that it does not look like the kingdoms of this world. It does not sound like the kingdoms of this world. It does not seek to rule like the kingdoms of this world. It is not like the kingdoms of this world. Jesus was and is a new kind of royal, which means that his kingdom – the kingdom of God – was a new kind of kingdom as well.

            What does this mean for us? What does it mean that Jesus, our Savior, our Sovereign and our King is a new and unexpected kind of royal with a new and unexpected kind of kingdom? I know that I have preached this before, but one thing that we need to understand about the kingdom of God is that it is not a geographic location. It is not a particular place that you can point to on a map or that you can journey to only in the next life. Amy Johnson Frykholm, a writer for The Christian Century, wrote that she used to believe the kingdom was something you could build, something that believers could definitively grasp, but she has begun to believe that the kingdom of God is something you see in glimpses, something that you recognize in a flash of a moment, a glimmer of a second.

            Whatever our understanding of the kingdom of God may be, our clearest glimpse of it is through Jesus – this new kind of royal. Through him we see that the kingdom of God is built not on authoritarianism but on servant leadership. It is built not on control, but on hope. It is built not on power but on love.

            Again, what does this mean for us? What does observing Christ the King Sunday mean for us? I think that recognizing that Jesus was and is a new kind of royal, with a new kind of kingdom is a reminder of who we are called to follow and how we are called to follow. How easy it is to get caught up in the trappings of this world’s kingdoms. How easy it is to confuse this world’s kingdoms with the kingdom of God. How easy it is to forget that the King we are called to follow is a new kind of royal, with a kingdom that is not from this world.

            That’s why this Sunday was established: as a reminder to believers of who they were supposed to be following, to whom they were supposed to pledge their loyalties and the kind of kingdom they were to participate in. So that is what we are called to do as well: to remember that our King is a new kind of royal and that we are called to follow him, to follow in his unexpected footsteps. We are called to participate in his kingdom, right now, in this time and in this place; to remember that the kingdom of God is not just a destination we reach somewhere in the future, but it is way of living. It is something that we glimpse in moments of service, in moments of sacrifice, in moments of giving and loving. Our king is a new kind of royal, with a new kind of kingdom and we are called to follow. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Blind Faith

Mark 10:46-52

October 28, 2018

            I am title challenged. In other words, I struggle with coming up with titles for my sermons, for anything I write. It isn’t that I don’t have the ability to come up with a good or catchy title for something. But with short stories or essays or poetry, the titles most often rise up out of what I’ve written. But sermons are different. Sermons are tricky. Generally, I have to come up with my sermon title before I write the sermon. That means that while I’m writing, I worry constantly about whether or not my sermon actually reflects the title I’ve given it. It’s not unusual for me to feel pressured by the title I’ve chosen; especially when I think I’ve come up with something clever and catchy. I have such a great title, but this sermon isn’t living up to it! I tell myself not to get obsessed about it. Do people really sit there and wonder why my sermon doesn’t seem to match the title? Probably not. But if you do, don’t tell me. But it still bugs me.

Brent told me a story shared from his pastor about another preacher who hated coming up with titles. He hated them so much that every sermon was entitled the same way; “Ponderings On …” And then whatever scripture passage he was preaching on would finish the title.

If I used his example, this sermon would be entitled, “Ponderings On Mark 10:46-52,” But it’s not called that. It’s called, “Blind Faith.” When I told Brent the title, he thought I was referring to the blues rock band started by Eric Claption, Ginger Baker, Steve Winwood, and Ric Greich. But that wasn’t my inspiration.

I also realized after I chose this title that the expression, “blind faith,” is sometimes used disparagingly. To some, blind faith means that the person with the blind faith has just checked out on using their brain or reason or logic at all. You just have blind faith in God or another person without any critical thinking to go along with it. But I chose the title, “Blind Faith,” because it seemed an obvious description of what is happening in this story. Bartimaeus was blind, but he is an astonishing and incredible example of faith; therefore, “Blind Faith.”

Bartimaeus’ story comes at the end of chapter 10, and essentially at the end of the first part of Mark’s gospel. Immediately after this story, Jesus makes his “triumphal entry,” into Jerusalem. He is moving ever more quickly and inexorably toward the cross. But before he and the disciples come to the Mount of Olives, and before he sends two of the disciples to fetch a colt from a nearby village, and before he enters Jerusalem on that colt’s back, and before the people lay palm branches and cloaks on the road to mark his entry, Jesus and the disciples and the large crowd following along were leaving Jericho.

Mark tells us that Bartimaeus, or Bar-Timaeus, son of Timaeus, was “a blind beggar sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’”

Bartimaeus may have been blind, but he was not deaf. He must have heard the commotion of a large number of people, and the sound of so many feet walking past him. He must have heard the babble of voices, the whispers of wonder, the cries of expectation, the excited discussions about this Jesus in their midst. Perhaps even before he heard Jesus and the disciples and the crowds walking by, Bartimaeus had already heard rumors about Jesus, about what this strange man of Nazareth was doing and saying. Maybe Bartimaeus just knew, just perceived in a way that went beyond the physical senses, who Jesus truly was. However he knew about Jesus, he knew about Jesus.

He started shouting to him, trying to get his attention.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

You would think that the people around Bartimaeus would have recognized what an opportunity this was for Timaeus’ son. Here is someone who could help Bartimaeus, heal Bartimaeus. Instead they tried to hush him.

“Be quiet, Bartimaeus!” “Stop shouting, Bartimaeus!” “Don’t bother the teacher, Bartimaeus!” “Who are you to cry out to him, Bartimaeus?”

But all their efforts to shush him, to quiet him, to stifle him, were naught. Bartimaeus just shouted louder.

“Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Jesus heard. Jesus stopped walking, stood still, and called Bartimaeus to him. I suspect that the same people who were trying to hush Bartimaeus were now the ones encouraging him to get up and go to Jesus.

“Hush Bartimaeus! Oh wait, he wants to see you. Go Bartimaeus!”
            However visually impaired Bartimaeus may have been, he seemed to have no mobility issues. He didn’t just get up from the side of the road, he sprang up. He threw off his cloak and jumped up from where he was sitting and went to Jesus. Jesus then asked him a question which should have seemed obvious.

“What do you want me to do for you?”

“My Teacher, let me see again.”

Without touching him, uttering a prayer, or speaking other words that would seem to bring forth healing, Jesus healed him. Jesus merely said to him,

“Go; your faith has made you well.”

Immediately, Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus, once a beggar by the side of the road, regained his sight. He saw and he followed.

What do you want me to do for you? Perhaps Jesus didn’t ask that question to be obtuse or to make Bartimaeus speak his desire. Perhaps that question was to get at the heart of what Bartimaeus really desired. He wanted to see again. Jesus gave him back his sight. When we think of a gospel with layers upon layers of meanings, we most likely think of the gospel of John. But I think there are layers in this story; there is more happening here, more being said, than a physical healing.

Don’t misunderstand me. Bartimaeus was healed of his physical blindness. But there was a seeing that went far beyond the physical. Bartimaeus could not see Jesus to have faith in him. But still he saw. He believed. He did not seem to just believe that Jesus was a healer. He called him “Son of David,” another way of saying Messiah. He called him, Teacher, my Teacher. He shouted not for healing, but for mercy. Bartimaeus had blind faith – not only because he was blind and believed, but because he was able to believe without needing to see. Jesus gave him back his sight, and what did he do? He didn’t run off and tell his friends or return to his family. He followed. He followed.

I’m not sure we are called to have blind faith, the kind of faith that chucks off reason and logic and thought. But I do think we are called to trust as deeply and as surely as Bartimaeus did. I think we are called to see how we are blind; how we walk through the world with blinders on: blind to others’ pain, blind to how our actions affect others, blind to the consequences of our sin.

The events of this past week, of yesterday, call us to remove our blinders. The violence in our world, in our country is real. As I was trying to ponder what to say in this sermon, I heard about the deadly shooting at a synagogue in Pennsylvania. People worshipping peacefully, observing the Sabbath, were gunned down by a man with death and violence and distorted vengeance on his mind and in his heart. They were our sisters and brothers. That man is our brother. The man who sent pipe bombs to so many prominent people last week; he is our brother. Believe me, I don’t like to call him that. I don’t want to admit that. I want to hate. But I cannot have blind faith. Just as Jesus restored Bartimaeus’ sight, he calls me to open my eyes, my mind and my heart. The people who are harmed are our family, and the people who do the harm are as well. And just as I am called to see this truth, to acknowledge it, I am called to live accordingly. And I am called to accountability, to admit my own culpability in the brokenness and the violence of our time. To have faith in Mark’s gospel is to follow Jesus; to follow with trust and persistence, even when we doubt. But it is also to see; to really, really see. We are called not to follow blindly, oblivious to the heartbreak of the world, focused only on our own personal relationship with Jesus. We are called to follow with eyes wide open, with hearts wide open, with minds wide open, with hands wide open. We are called to follow and to see. Jesus healed Bartimaeus. He gave him back his sight. But he also showed him mercy. Isn’t that what we are calling for? Isn’t that what we need? Mercy.

Aren’t we all in need of mercy? Aren’t we all blind in some way or another? Don’t we need to be healed? Don’t we need to finally see, to really see as if our faith depends on it?

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia. Amen.”