Sunday 25 November 2018

November 25 sermon: Christ: Our King

Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Jesus answered, “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 asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “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.”
(John 18:33-37)

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     Kings and Queens seem almost outdated in today’s world – a thing of the past. Not that they don’t still exist, of course. We live in a constitutional monarchy – but our monarchy (our Queen) has pomp with little real power. Just to be clear, I’m not anti-monarchy. I’m not a republican and I’m not arguing that the monarchy’s symbolic role isn’t important. I’m just pointing out that it is a symbolic role. We just heard a passage from John’s Gospel that speaks about the question of monarchy and kingship. It describes an exchange between Pilate and Jesus. If that seems a bit out of place in late November (because we normally hear about Pilate during Lent) it really isn’t. The last Sunday before Advent is the official end of the church year, and so, in a way, everything else in the church year leads up to this moment. The Gospel proclaims that as history itself comes to its eventual and inevitable conclusion, it will be Jesus who is the culmination of everything God has done. In today’s passage, Pilate asks Jesus if he is the King of the Jews. And by asking that question, Pilate also forces us to confront the question of Jesus’ identity: whose King is he? Is he someone else’s King, or is he our King?

     One of the first things made clear in this passage is that Jesus was not immediately recognizable as a King. Pilate wasn’t really sure who (or what) it is he’s talking to as he confronts Jesus in this passage. The emphasis is everything in the question Pilate asked. When the passage is read, the emphasis is often something like this: “Are you the King of the Jews?” But I think as a starting point to get into this passage the emphasis needs to be different. It should be: “Are you the King of the Jews?” In the first, Pilate is asking a question (“Are  you …?”) In the second, Pilate is expressing surprise and even bewilderment (“Are you …?”) I believe that confronted by Jesus, Pilate was (at first at least) incredulous and was perhaps even being mildly sarcastic. Keep in mind the state Jesus was in as he stood before Pilate: he had been beaten, he was bleeding, he had been spit upon. And looking at that, to paraphrase, what I think Pilate is saying is “You don’t look like a king to me! What a joke this is!” And Pilate’s reaction is completely understandable – because Jesus didn’t look like a King; in fact, he was unlike any King that Pilate had ever heard of.

     Even the people of Jerusalem, who had proclaimed Jesus as their king just a few days before, must have been startled. He didn’t look like a king. He didn’t lead an army into Jerusalem – he led a bunch of ragtag, scruffy disciples. He didn’t ride in a chariot drawn by a horse – he rode on the back of a donkey. So even to the people who proclaimed him to be their king, Jesus must have seemed to have been a strange one. To Pilate he would have been even stranger. Pilate was not unfamiliar with kings, and nothing about Jesus said “king” to him. Pilate would have understood a king as someone who governed a particular territory. But Jesus had no land to rule and he claimed no land to rule. Jesus’ words to Pilate must have left the poor governor scratching his head: “My kingdom in not from this world.” And even to our ears, being a king is tied to having a kingdom. Jesus didn’t actually deny to Pilate that he was a king – but it left a question hanging: how could a person be a king if his kingdom was not from this world?

     So the issue is how to define kingship as Jesus understood the concept. So often what we do is try to redefine Jesus. So we downplay the regal aspect of his identity and think of him instead as merely a friend or a brother. And there’s nothing wrong with thinking of Jesus as a friend or a brother, because he is. There may be no more moving hymn in the entire Christian faith than “What A Friend We Have In Jesus.” But Jesus is more than that., and rather than simply discarding the title because we don’t like the political overtones of the word or because it’s so masculine, what we really need to do is try to understand kingship as Jesus understood it.

     When we think of royalty today, what do we think of? Social status; prestige; a throne; yachts and palaces; wealth. Jesus had none of these things. He is a king without land, without a throne, without a palace, without wealth. He’s certainly a different kind of king. He didn’t inflict punishment on people; instead he showed compassion to them and he wept when confronted with suffering and need. He came to get nothing from anyone – he asked for no awards or honours, and he collected no taxes; instead he gave for the sake of those around him. Those who accepted him as king became not his servants but his friends. In the end, this king would be exalted not in comfort on a throne but in agony on a cross. And even as he was dying rather than lashing out at those who were torturing him, he forgave them. Pilate – not sure about anything because nothing seemed to be what it should have been – asked Jesus “Are you the King of the Jews?” And it’s actually a pretty good question. Is Jesus a King? And, if so, whose King is he?

     Well, Jesus is a king. However uncomfortable some people might be with that word and that imagery, Jesus is a king – and that’s vital today. Jesus’ identity as a king is one of the things about him that almost literally turns the world and all its expectations and practices upside down. We live in a world full of brutal dictators and evil kings and violent tyrants and corrupt politicians. The way leadership is exercised in the world is a sign of the fallenness of the world. It’s enough sometimes to lead us into despair. But then we confront – or are confronted by – Jesus. Not brutal, not evil, not violent and not corrupt – rather kind, compassionate, gentle and loving. And in Jesus we see that these are the qualities of a king; the qualities of leadership; and in Jesus we understand just how fallen the world is. But Jesus gives us hope that a better day is dawning; that God will overthrow all the injustice and oppression and hatred of the world; that Jesus will indeed reign. We wait for that; we hope for that; we yearn for that; we believe in that. We believe that, in the words of a hymn, “Jesus shall reign where’er the sun shall its successive journeys run.” Which leaves only one last question: if Jesus shall reign, then whose king will he be?

     Pilate asked “Are you the king of the Jews?” Is he merely the king of one particular people? Is he merely a king from antiquity, perhaps of historical interest but of little contemporary relevance? Is he a sort of media star of interest, much like our own royal family? Is he someone else’s king? Every single thing about Jesus – his birth, his life, his teachings, his death, his resurrection and his ascension – challenges us to face this question: whose king is he? The church year ends today, and the Christian cycle begins anew next Sunday with the beginning of Advent, and everything in the church year from the start of Advent last year has challenged us to eventually face this question: whose king is he? It all comes down to that. In fact, it comes down to an even simpler question than that. Is Jesus our king? And for each one of us individually – is Jesus my king? With Advent on the horizon, it’s worth remembering how it all started – and as the Brazilian author Paolo Coelho reminds us, “it was the shepherds who were the first to recognize a king that the rest of the world refused to acknowledge.” It’s those who most need hope in their lives that understand Jesus as the great hope; the great King!

Sunday 4 November 2018

November 4 sermon: The Commandments In Short Form

One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, “Which commandment is the first of all?” Jesus answered, “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” Then the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; and ‘to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself,’ - this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” After that no one dared to ask him any question.
(Mark 12:28-34)

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     There are things that happen that shock us, grab the headlines and dominate the news for months. On June 17, 2015 nine people were killed while attended a prayer meeting at an African American church in Charleston, South Carolina. On January 29, 2017 six people were killed in an attack on a mosque in Quebec City. On April 23, 2018 ten people were killed in a van attack on Yonge Street in North York. And, of course, just last Saturday nine people were killed while attending Sabbath service at a synagogue in Pittsburgh. They are shocking, horrifying, terrifying events. Attacks that were all based on hatred: hatred of African Americans, hatred of Muslims, hatred of women and hatred of Jews. I remind you of them today not with any desire to bring you down or to make you sombre but just to acknowledge something that’s saddeningly very real: there is a lot of hatred in our world today. We Canadians have generally tried to look at these things and think “well, at least they don’t happen here. At least not very often.” And yet, at the end of 2017 (about one year ago) Statistics Canada reported that the number of hate crimes in Canada had risen for the third year in a row. Churches and synagogues and mosques and even cemeteries were increasingly targeted by hateful graffiti or vandalism, hateful literature attacking various groups and cultures is sometimes being circulated, and those things aside, the hate crimes being committed in this country are becoming increasingly violent. People are being attacked not only verbally but also physically because of their sexual orientation, because of their race, because of where they were born, because of what they believe. Our wonderful country – which we’ve generally believed to be happily multicultural, tolerant and welcoming – has an increasingly unsavoury underbelly that’s starting to creep up and be noticed.  And I wondered: how do you counter feelings of rage and hatred that are so unimaginable that they lead to such unthinkable acts?

     It was The Beatles who many years ago sang “All You Need Is Love.” Is that too simplistic? And what would we mean by “love,” anyway? What kind of love would be required to counter a hatred that is so powerful, so raw and so violent that I can’t think of a word to describe it except, perhaps, for “demonic”? I suppose that to counteract a truly demonic hatred would require a truly divine love. And perhaps that requires that we adopt a way of thinking of love that’s different from the typical worldly definition of love. The world tends to define “love” as a noun. We think of it as a feeling or as an emotion; sometimes it’s a commodity to be offered or withheld. We cheapen it by applying the word to all sorts of things that are less than important to our lives. Really – how many things do we say we love? “I love ice cream.” “I love hockey.” “I love The Big Bang Theory.” What we mean is that we “really, really like” those things – we enjoy them, but we say we “love” them. That kind of overuse of the word “love” diminishes its power. And as I reflected on all that I found myself thinking about the words of Jesus in our Gospel reading for this morning. Jesus speaks of the importance of love in this passage – but Jesus speaks of it not as a noun, but as a verb; not as something passive, but as something active; not as something to be given or withheld, but as a way of life that should overflow from us. And Jesus grounds his understanding of love in God – and, more specifically, in God’s commandments. I’m not sure that most of us would think of doing that. Our society has turned “love” into such a thing of the heart that we forget that Jesus sees it as not so much a thing of the heart but as a thing of the hands and feet – defined not so much by how you feel as by what you do.

     In fairness, it was the scribe who actually seemed to have an understanding of the concept. He was the first to bring up the commandments. It’s not really clear what he was referring to. Was he thinking of the entire Torah – all of Genesis through Deuteronomy – or was he thinking about what we now call the “Ten Commandments”? Either way, the law of God is the revelation of the will and the nature of God.. Think about the Ten Commandments and what they tell us about God’s will. To sum them up: Have no other God, don’t use God’s name improperly, keep the sabbath, honour your parents, do not kill, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not lie, do not covet – either your neighbour’s spouse or your neighbour’s things. None of that is emotional, but all of that is love – at its most basic, it’s the way you act toward those whom you love. And if these commandments reveal God to us, then what they reveal is that God is love – not merely that God loves, but that God is love; not merely that God feels love, but that God acts lovingly. Love is God’s very nature. And, of course, Jesus, hearing the scribe refer to the commandments, puts the whole thing even more succinctly: to paraphrase, he says “everything God wants of you can be boiled down to two things – love God and love everybody else!” And, in this context, you love not by feeling – you love by doing.

     I have heard it said many times that there is a fine line between love and hate. I heard someone say once that what love and hate have in common is that they can both cause us to do things that a rational person would not do! And perhaps that’s true. And perhaps that means that, indeed, there is no way to counter hatred except with love – love as Jesus defines it; love as God reveals it. In a blog that he calls “The Waking Dreamer,” Dr. Alan Brehm, the pastor of Hickman Presbyterian Church in Hickman, Nebraska, wrote that “God’s original intention for humanity in the first place was to live in relationship with God, loving and serving God by loving and serving others. It is a life of obedience that creates justice, and freedom, and peace for us all.” I want you to think about those words for a moment. Brehm defines love not as some heartfelt, emotional, swooning sort of sensation, and it’s a lot more than just really, really, liking something. “It is a life of obedience that creates justice, and freedom, and peace for us all.” It s living in such a way that our actions have a positive impact on the lives of those around us, and especially on the lives of those who are hurting, so that they can know that there is someone who truly stands with them – but it also must be extended even to the lives of those who hate and who act in unspeakably evil ways, so that they might come to understand the power of the true and only alternative to hate: which is the love first demonstrated by God. In 1 John 4, the whole concept of love is described in this way:

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him.  In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God, [but] if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us. ... God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. ... There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because [God] first loved us. Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.

     Friends, hate cannot win, and hate will not win. There may indeed be a fine line between love and hate, but only one can ultimately prevail – and it will not be hate that prevails. This past week, in response to the terrible events in Pittsburgh, the United Church issued a statement that included these words: “We continue to … remind our members that we need to cultivate love, understanding, and acceptance of each other, rather than giving in to fears that provide fertile ground for hate and extremism to flourish.” Hate always comes from fear. Fear of the other; fear of those who seem different; fear of our own loss of status or privilege; fear that something is being taken away from us, and the need to find a scapegoat for those losses. Hate always comes from fear. But the way of God is the way of love, and all of the commandments of God can be summed up so easily: “love God, and love everyone else.” As John wrote, “those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.” That's not optional. There's no wiggle room there. The defeat of hate starts with us. Hate can start so easily – with petty grievances, that lead us to become irritated with someone, and then to dislike them, and then to want to get back at them, to make them pay. And it can take over a person’s life. But those who claim to love God must love others in return. And when that love becomes more than an emotion – when it becomes the motivating force in our lives, the thing that drives us incessantly forward, then love overcomes hate. Then hatred is defeated and then love is victorious.

     I want to give the last word today to a man named Ari Mahler. You’ve probably never heard of Ari Mahler. He is an emergency room nurse in Pittsburgh – at the hospital that Robert Bowers was taken to after he killed those 11 people last Saturday at the Pittsburgh synagogue. Ari Mahler was the ER nurse who treated Bowers. Ari Mahler is Jewish. Ari Mahler’s parents belong to the synagogue that Bowers attacked. Ari Mahler wrote this on Facebook just yesterday, and it seems to sum up what Jesus meant perfectly. After relating that Bowers entered the emergency room shouting “DEATH TO JEWS! DEATH TO JEWS!”, Mahler wrote:

I didn't see evil when I looked into Robert Bowers’ eyes. All I saw was a clear lack of depth, intelligence, and palpable amounts of confusion. Robert Bowers probably had no friends, was easily influenced by propaganda, and wanted attention on a sociopathic level. He’s the kind of person that is easily manipulated by people with a microphone, a platform, and use fear for motivation. I can’t go into details of our interactions because of HIPPA, but Robert Bowers thanked me for saving him, for showing him kindness, and for treating him the same way I treat every other patient. This was the same Robert Bowers that just committed mass homicide. The Robert Bowers who instilled panic in my heart worrying my parents were two of his 11 victims less than an hour before his arrival.

I’m sure he had no idea I was Jewish. Why thank a Jewish nurse, when 15 minutes beforehand, you’d shoot me in the head with no remorse? I didn’t say a word to him about my religion. I chose not to say anything to him the entire time. I wanted him to feel compassion. I chose to show him empathy. I felt that the best way to honor his victims was for a Jew to prove him wrong. Besides, if he finds out I’m Jewish, does it really matter? The better question is, what does it mean to you?

Love. That’s why I did it. Love as an action is more powerful than words, and love in the face of evil gives others hope. It demonstrates humanity. It reaffirms why we’re all here. The meaning of life is to give meaning to life, and love is the ultimate force that connects all living beings. I could care less what Robert Bowers thinks, but you, the person reading this, love is the only message I wish instill in you. If my actions mean anything, love means everything.

Respectfully, 
Ari Mahler, RN