Remember Me in Your Kingdom - A Homily for The Reign of Christ, Year C, 2010

Homily for the Reign of Christ, Year C, 2010
Sunday, November 21th, 2010
Trinity Anglican Church, Bradford, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Luke 23:33-43

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
--Luke 23:42

For those who have heard the old, old story again and again, the irony will not be lost on us. As Jesus is nailed to the cross and as it is lifted up, three successive taunts are hurled at him. With bystanders observing mutely, the leaders of the day mocked the Lord saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” Soldiers, having cast lots for his clothing, offered him sour wine and these words of ridicule, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” And finally, even one of the thieves between whom he was crucified called out, “Are you not the messiah? Save yourself, and us!”

The irony of these taunts is so clear to us because we have the end of the story in sight, we know that while Jesus does indeed suffer death, death is not victorious over him. God indeed delivers his Son from the grave. Where soldiers, religious officials and bystanders mocked him because they thought they were seeing the colossal failure of his ministry culminating in his death, we know that quite the opposite is true: that the cross on which he was hung and that the death that he suffered were, in fact, victory for this cynical, hurting world.

An even deeper irony is revealed in our knowledge of the rest of the story: The so-called “bad thief,” the one who mocks Jesus, not only taunts the crucified Lord to save himself, but also to save him and the other criminal with whom he was crucified. We imagine these words being delivered with such hateful disdain and cynicism, and yet we note again the irony, that this act upon the cross will indeed be a saving act. Somehow, though, at least one character in the narrative can see through the fog of cynicism. The so-called “good thief” is the single person in this narrative with eyes to see, the one person who neither passively observes nor maliciously maligns; the one person who sees in this apparent defeat of the messiah, the fruit of redemption. Thus, he reprimands his companion and turns his eyes to his crucified Lord and mouths what were likely his final words, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” It would be so, for our Lord proclaimed the words so many of us long to hear in all our human brokenness, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

***

We all have images of God that are formed in our youth. While some have very gentle and loving images of God, I think it is true even amongst Church going folk that some of our images of God are less than healthy, and perhaps a bit skewed. Some of us have images of an angry God, or a punitive God, or a God who is watching over us waiting for us to make mistakes in order to punish us. Even if these are not our images of God, I am quite certain it is what many people outside the Church think of when they imagine the God of churchgoing people. Religious fanatics have not helped allay these stereotypes, but have fanned the flames of ignorance and intolerance. But whatever our image of God, I expect that from time-to-time, God will surprise us, smash that image and we will behold him (or her), in a new and splendid way. From time-to-time, God smashes the idols of the divine image we have imagined and gives us new eyes to see the divine glory. This is what happened on the hill known as the place of the skull.

If we recall those three derisions leveled at Jesus, they all contained one element, specifically, they asked, if he was indeed a king he should show great power and come down from the cross, destroy his oppressors and liberate his people. Should we cast our minds back to a certain moment of temptation in the desert at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, we will realize that the image of God that people expected to see in Jesus has not changed that much. The temptations that Satan set before Jesus, to seize and demonstrate his power, and yes to even use his power to help others, are the same temptations he faces on the cross. He is tempted by the derisions of the onlookers in the same way he is tempted by Satan, to reveal himself in power. On the cross, when he fails to do so, he is mocked.
People had an expectation of what a messiah, what a king, would do and Jesus failed to, refused to, live up to those expectations. Thus, when God delivered him unto death and raised him on the third day, in an event of iconoclastic gentleness, God in Christ shattered the idol of people’s perception of who God is and how God should act. Instead of a warrior king who comes with sword and army, we meet the humble self-giving, self-effacing messiah. And it is he, in all his humility, who saves us. Irony of ironies.

Consider again, that moment outside Jerusalem, when amidst the waving of palm branches and excitement Jesus prepared to enter the holy city. Those who gathered around him were gathered for a political revolution. What did they get? - A messiah who handed himself over freely to the authorities to be crucified. God in Christ shatters the image of our expectations.

The culmination of the liturgical year is a moment in which we praise Christ as our King, as our Messiah. But do we know and understand what kind of king we serve; what sort of King we worship? History is littered by the stories of Kings who use their power to enslave people they are meant to serve and destroy the spirits of those whom they are meant to inspire. History is filled with kings, rulers and statesmen who have sent young men (and women) into battle for the most selfish of causes, and have left mothers widowed and children orphaned all in an insane lust for power. This is, for many, the image that comes to mind with the word “king.”

Sadly, for many such is the image of God. To many in the world, looking in from the outside at Christians (and other people of faith), we are perceived a religious fanatics who will sacrifice principles of gentleness and inclusivity to serve an angry God. And while there are those in all religions who serve such an image, they are most certainly wrongheaded, and if there are Christians who follow such an image of God, they have certainly misread the Gospel. For the Word of life that is set before us today, the Word that hangs on that cross proclaims something else; something very revolutionary, something very shattering, something very iconoclastic about God - namely that the one that has all power chooses not to exercise it. Rather, for the sake of his children, he joins them in their journey of life and death.

If he is the king, the messiah, if he is God, let him save himself and us, cries the “bad thief,” but by not saving himself, by not taking the crown of gold but receiving a crown of thorns, he puts his people before himself and saves them. In the Incarnation, God empties himself, assumes our humanity, suffers the worst that human beings can suffer, and separates himself from the font of his very essence, so that we might be drawn into the divine life. By making our human story his story, his divine story becomes our divine story. He joins us in the communion of earthly life, that we might join him in communion with the Father.

He is not a king who separates himself from us in palaces distant and lavish, but a king who joins us in the muck of life, in the pain of our own trials and disappointment. He draws not a sword against the enemy, but rather turns the heart of the enemy and makes the enemy his friend and redeems what his broken. He appoints a place in paradise for even the convicted thief. What then do we learn about the nature of God, about true kingship, about the king and messiah we worship and proclaim? That true kingship, and indeed all Christian leadership, is rooted in deepest humility and a love that burns even unto death. This is the nature of God and this is the life we drawn into by the cross of Christ: the life of humility, compassion, and love. To Christ our King, compassionate and kind, we ascribe our honour and love unto the end of the age. Lord Jesus, remember us when you come into your kingdom.

C. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

I Will Seek Out My Sheep: A Sermon for the Reign of Christ

Homily for the Feast of the Reign of Christ, Year A
Sunday, November 23rd 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24

“I will seek out my sheep”
--Ezekiel 34: 12

I have recently been giving some thought to apocalyptic theology. Last week, in our youth confirmation class we had questions raised about the meaning and interpretation of the images in the book of Revelation. In our parish newsletter and recently on my blog I wrote about the so-called “Little Apocalypse” in the thirteenth chapter of St. Mark’s gospel. In both cases, I noted that we as mainstream Christians have tended to shy away from such texts, fearing them to be too difficult to understand, resisting the urge to dig into them with enthusiasm, and thus leaving them within the realm and ownership of certain very conservative strands of Christianity. Yet, I think that apocalyptic theology, that is, theology that tends to focus on the appearance of Christ at the end times, has something to say to us, the everyday people of God, in our present situation.

Apocalyptic thought is usually painted in very black and white terms. There is evil and good. Which side are we on? However, I think that this question may be a bit of a “red herring,” for underneath all apocalyptic thought is the presumption that God, in his goodness, saves his people – and not only saves them, but recreates them and all creation, making all things new. God, in Christ, is transforming the created order into its final purpose. Thus, I think the question for us is, can this be true? Do we see it? Do we believe it?

The other thing that needs to be said about apocalyptic theology, and about biblical prophecy in general is that it is never really about predicting the future, but interpreting the present time. Now, by this I do not intend to suggest, as some do, that by reading the newspapers we will be able to identify the ten-horned beast of the apocalypse. This kind of simplistic association of a biblical image or metaphor with a particular person in our time is surely wrong-headed and dangerous. However, the writers of such apocalyptic and prophetic literature surely had individuals of their own day in mind, and spoke in a sort of code so that they would end up on the chopping blocks, themselves. What apocalyptic and prophetic texts suggest is that in every age there are tyrants that rise up, there are crises that are bigger than what we can handle, and there is always before us the real possibility that we will lose hope.

Years ago I heard one writer – this was during the Reagan years and the height of nuclear tension – asked if he thought we were on the brink of the apocalypse. He laughed a very serious laugh and noted, has not every generation been on the brink of the apocalypse? Did not the men in the trenches in the First World War look to heaven and cry, “My God, this is the apocalypse!” And so I concur – each age must face its own apocalyptic threat.
When terrorists run planes into buildings; when the climate seems to have changed irreparably; when we stand powerlessly in the midst of economic turmoil; do we not stand with hands outstretched and cry unto God, “Is this the apocalypse?” And of course, the greater danger is that we will simply buy into the apathy of the times and find ourselves not on the side of the righteous but aligned with the great whore, Babylon.

It is of course, so easy to place the blame. Our leaders have failed us. Certainly this was the view of Ezekiel. The people that found themselves in Exile were there because of the past failure and continued failure of their religious leaders. This oracle from Ezekiel is an oracle of hope in which God brings the righteous out of captivity and pronounces with judgment on those leaders who have failed in their responsibility, who have lived off of the fat of the land and the backs of the people. He calls them fat sheep that will be separated from the lean ones. Similarly, with this oracle surely in mind, Jesus talks about the separation of the sheep and the goats.

For those of who lead, those of us who are religious leaders, and those of you who lead in your workplaces and communities, these are hard words. We must ask the question, have we worked for the kingdom or have we worked to fill ourselves?

Let us not forget that the word “apocalypse” simply means “revelation.” And for us, as Christian people, this is the revealing of God in Christ. Has this not already happened in the Incarnation; in the appearing of God amongst us in the person of Jesus Christ? Is this not the reality that we confess in the words of our faith an in our creeds? And does he not come again and again to us, to each of us, in every generation, in every age?

So, amidst all this angst of a world coming apart; amidst our fear that we can do nothing to change the course of the mighty rivers of world events; amidst the struggle of leaders to do what is right when the current tempts us in the wrong direction, God comes to us with the words, “I will seek out my sheep.” And what comforting word these are, for who is it that does the seeking? Is it you or I? No. It is God in Christ. It is God who presses into the world in all its brokenness and seeks out you and me. It is God who risks and offers up his own life on the cross for you and me. It is God whose love eclipses our hatred and enfolds us as we resist enfolding. It is not up to you or me, it is up to God – and God has acted. He has appeared. The apocalypse is now, and it is good news for the whole world.

It is good news because although we as leaders may fail to lead, God will not fail.

It is good news because although we as Christians may fail in virtue, piety, and faithfulness, God will not fail.

It is good news because although kingdoms rise and fall through pride, arrogance, and power, God’s kingdom will never fail.

I recall our eleventh primate of the Anglican Church of Canada, Michael Peers, offering these words, “We’re in it for the long haul.” His words are words of hope because it is true: while rulers rise and fall, we stand with Shepherd who fell and rose. Or rather – it is he who stands with us.

In every age the voice of the oppressed has called out for justice. Apocalyptic theology tells us that God will indeed execute judgment, or rather that the oppressors through their actions may have already executed judgment upon themselves. When Ezekiel speaks in today’s texts about the separation of the lean sheep and the fat sheep, and the deliverance of the oppressed and the punishment of those who have filled themselves unjustly, we must ask ourselves, in what way might we be amongst the “fat sheep.” Surely, we are not without guilt, both as leaders and as privileged people in the world. But are we without hope?

God continues to seek out his sheep even to the last. When Ezekiel enumerates the fate of the lean and the fat sheep, he adds this additional comment: “He shall feed them with justice.” To whom does this statement refer? One interpretation suggests he metes out justice by rewarding the good and exterminating the evil. Yet, if we read this statement through the lens of our Christian faith, and through the work of Christ, is not the justice of God that our Shepherd comes to seek out the lost sheep, the ones who have gone astray, and yes, even the evil ones? It is so easy to speak in terms of good and evil, and yet, what is evil if not human brokenness and disappointment? What is evil if not weakness hidden behind feigned power? What is evil if not insecurity and fear? Are there any amongst us who have not been the victims of brokenness, disappointment, weakness or insecurity and fear? And are there any amongst us who have not allowed ourselves to be overwhelmed by such things in negative ways? Ezekiel tells us that God promises to seek the lost, bring back the strayed, bind up the injured, and strengthen the weak. And this is precisely what he has done in Jesus Christ. What if God is seeking out all of humanity, the good and the bad, and seeking to bring about reconciliation, healing, and wholeness to all? This is a hard message because we, as human beings, have one view of justice. But God has another.

Is not the justice of God this: “I came not to seek the righteous but the sinner?” God became human that each of us, in all our brokenness might be made whole. I suggest to you today that each of us has within us both the “lean” and the “fat.” Each of us is both sheep and goat. Each of us is both sinner and saint. The work of Christ is the reconciliation of our inner struggle. The work of Christ is the healing of this dichotomy. The work of Christ, and the justice of God in Christ, is transformation of brokenness into wholeness. When this happens in any one of us, the world is healed, and we do indeed behold and witness the revelation, the apocalypse, of kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ before our very eyes.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This sermon may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.