What is truth? Christ and Pilate by Nikolai Ge, 1890 |
A sermon preached at All Hallows' by the Tower on Sunday 21st November 2021 (Year B, Christ the King) based on readings from Daniel 7.9-10, 13,14; Psalm 93; Revelation 1.4b-8; John 18.33-37. A shorter version of this sermon was given at St Stephen Walbrook on Thursday 25th November 2021.
You can watch a video recording of the sermon (and the service) at this link.
May I speak in the name of God, the Alpha and the Omega; who is
and was and who is to come, the Almighty. Amen.
Believe it or not, we’ve arrived at the last week of the church
year. Before we turn our attention to the anticipation of the nativity of
Jesus, the gospel transports us to the last day of his life on earth - when
Pilate - the embodiment of earthly power - comes face to face with the
embodiment of divine power - and when the difference between the two is laid
bare.
Pilate begins by addressing the political charge against Jesus
head on. “Are you the King of the Jews?”
Jesus explains to Pilate that his authority is not rooted in
violence, oppression or political preferment. He doesn’t have subjects, but
followers. A reality completely at odds to the vision of power which Pilate has
built around himself like a gold-plated echo chamber, from which there is no
escape. The mere mention by Jesus of his “kingdom” brings to mind images so
indelibly inked on Pilate’s mind that he cannot comprehend an alternative. “So
you are a king?” he asks.
In his response, Jesus doesn’t talk about himself, but what he
has been sent to do - to witness to the truth. The truth that is the enduring
love of God for the world.
“Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice” he
explains.
But Pilate is not listening.
He goes on to flog Jesus and seeks to humiliate him by clothing
his mock “King” in mock “Bling” - a crown of thorns and purple robes -
revealing nothing of Jesus’s kingship but everything about Pilate’s own
fetishized attachment to the trappings of power. The joke’s on him.
Jesus displayed his Kingship not by wearing crown jewels drawn
from the four corners of the earth, but revealing the eternal treasure of God’s
love for all creation in acts of humble service. Showing solidarity with the
outcast and the oppressed. Washing the dusty feet of the disciples. Being
obedient to the point of death on the cross.
The Feast of Christ the King, which we celebrate today, has its
roots in the futility of earthly powers. Introduced in the shadow of the First
World War and the growing threat from dictators across Europe, it was decided
to create a festival to give each of us the opportunity to recognise the power
that we embody and to whom we gift it; to listen to the truth about its source
and hear how it is intended to be used. To acknowledge and celebrate the
enduring authority of Christ as King.
Something, one could say, that we might usefully do more than
once a year. History being littered with earthly kings who have made
questionable judgements; using sham trials to enforce their version of truth -
as a quick trip next door, to the Tower of London will confirm.
The Book of Daniel was probably composed at a time when the
Jewish people lived under the authority of a tyrannical king - and self
proclaimed God - Antiochus ‘Epiphanes’ who desecrated the temple in Jerusalem
and introduced policies which humiliated and subjected the Jewish people.
In Daniel’s vision four ‘beasts’ rise up from the swirling sea -
each thought to represent the different empires that ruled had over Jerusalem.
The final beast - symbolizing Antiochus Epiphanes - begins to destroy
everything that exists around it. But it is defeated by an ‘Ancient One’
dressed in white, throned in heavenly splendour. The vision ends with ‘one like
a human being’ who comes from the heavens, being granted everlasting dominion
of a kingdom in which all peoples, nations and languages serve him in
unity.
The reign of Antiochus Epiphanes was ultimately defeated by the
Maccabean revolt (commemorated in the Jewish celebration of Hanukkah, which
begins next Sunday). But in Daniel’s vision there is no implication that regime
change is to be rooted in violence.
It is only through the ‘one like a human being’ that God’s
creative purpose – the reign of his kingdom – is fulfilled - and it
is in the authority of this King alone that we are to place our
hope.
Daniel’s vision - his dream - calls us to hold faith in the
promise that the world we inhabit now is neither the only one nor the most
important. We are called live that dream.
In recent times, many have said that we find big stories - or
“meta-narratives” like that a turn-off. Stories that that connect all people
across all time and all places with the arc of an all-encompassing, universal
truth. Instead, they say, we find it more comfortable to find the truth through
the telling of our individual stories - expressions of our own
experience.
Then the pandemic hit.
Like the Jewish people living at the time Daniel wrote down his
vision, a single powerful force has threatened all our lives. In the midst of
which we are beginning to rediscover the truth of our relationship to one
another and creation; the truth that our individual experiences are lines of a
single poem.
Over the past few weeks we’ve had three reminders that the
whisper of that truth has found it’s way in to the echo chambers we’ve built
around us.
We are beginning to listen.
We’ve heard a former employee of the world’s largest news
content provider explain that a consequence of the algorithms used to control
the stories that it’s three billion users receive, is that extreme and
polarising content is prioritised and amplified. Through our engagement with
the rabbit holes and echo chambers of the digital world; we’ve been
contributing to a meta-narrative of hate - not one of enduring love.
A second example. This week Azeem Rafiq’s testimony of the
racism faced by black and minority ethnic cricket players in God’s own county
has shown that we don’t need the help of algorithms to prioritise and amplify
hate; just eleven men in a dressing room. He described giving testimony as
being more important than any number of wickets or Ashes trophies - or any other
measure of earthly glory - despite the personal cost to him and his
family.
Cricket’s governing body is now beginning to realising the
damaging consequences of failing to listen to the truth that binds us – the enduring
love and dignity of all.
And we’ve heard Greta Thunberg address a convention of young
climate activists, angered by the failure of politicians to listen to their
voice; saying: “We can no longer let the people in power decide what hope
is. Hope is not passive. Hope is not blah, blah, blah. Hope is telling the
truth”
Truth which comes not from power but from embracing
powerlessness. Each of these stories a whisper of the prophetic voice of Jesus
on his last day on earth.
“Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my
voice”.
On this Feast of Christ the King may we renew our commitment to
listen to that truth - and hear our call to make it known - which means
understanding our own power and how we use it - the power of who we choose to
listen to.
Here at All Hallows’ you have recently published your dream -
your vision - for making the truth of Christ’s kingship known in the present. A
dream which recognises that humble service is a dialogue - not monologue - and
involves working creatively, inspired by the Spirit, in partnership with other
groups and organisations and building on the work of those who have gone before
us, to speak truth to this parish, this city and the world.
As we prepare to gather with others over Advent and Christmas -
both in here and outside, with let us share this dream with them - and invite
them to share theirs with us. In doing so we break out of our echo-chambers and
share in the social poetry we create together when we hear and act on our call
to become agents of Gods faith, hope and love.
What better way to celebrate the Kingship of the one who is the
Alpha and the Omega; who is and was and who is to come, the Almighty.
Amen.
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What is truth? Christ and Pilate by Nikolai Ge, 1890
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