The Rev. Noah Van Niel
Chapel of the Cross
November 25th, 2018
Christ the King (B): 2 Samuel 23:1-7; Psalm 132: 1-13; Revelation 1:4b-8; John 18:33-37
For audio of this sermon click here.
I went to the dump last week. Actually I’ve been a few times in the weeks since we’ve arrived as we have a lot of boxes to recycle and some old furniture that didn’t survive the move from Boston. And I must commend you, Chapel Hill has an excellent dump, we’ve been very impressed. 
Even more so because last week, right there at the bulky item dumpster I met, Al. Al works at the dump. He was a thin guy who appeared to be on the back end of middle age, with piercing blue eyes and a face that looked like it had been through some stuff. Now ever since we moved down south I’ve been trying to be extra nice to people because up north everyone’s always talking about how sweet southerners are compared with us Yankees, and I’m doing my best to fit in, so Al and I got to talking. He commented on our Massachusetts license plates, and I told him we just moved here and then I mentioned to him that I was a priest. Now, in my experience when you tell someone you’re a priest it either goes one of two ways—either it shuts down the conversation completely or it opens it up and things get real, quick. The latter proved to be the case with Al. Long story short he had a previous life of money and influence and power but also of selfishness, adultery and unhappiness (his words not mine). He was born again as a Southern Baptist but it became clear he did not have a heart for the elements of that tradition that viewed Christianity in an exclusive rather than inclusive light. He appreciated their emphasis on direct relationship with Jesus Christ and serious consideration of the Bible but he confessed he couldn’t stand all the other stuff that had snuck in along the way. And then he said something really wise, there by the side of the bulky items dumpster at the Chapel Hill dump, with my two kids screaming for me to get back in the car, he looked me dead in the eye with those pale blue eyes and said, “I’m not about all that. I want to do truth. Yeah, that’s what I’m about. Truth. Religion is easy. Truth is hard.”
That’s some deep dumpster wisdom. And my next question to him would have been, should have been, and “What is truth?” But our conversation had already gone on much longer than I had anticipated, my boys patience had clearly worn out and I had to be back home for a delivery we were awaiting so I didn’t ask him. I wish I had because I’m genuinely curious what he would have said. “What is truth?” It’s a question which we all have. It’s a question that has perplexed poets and philosophers, artists and scientists since the dawn of time. It’s also a question we have been asking ourselves more and more these days as the nature of news and knowledge gets called into question on a daily basis. What is truth?
You may also remember that this is the question that Pontius Pilate poses to Jesus at the climax of one of the great scenes of the New Testament: their tête-à-tête interrogation which serves as our Gospel passage this morning. You’d have to remember it because for some reason that I can’t quite fathom the lectionary passage today cuts off immediately before this legendary line, but know that it follows right on the heel of where our Gospel passage ends today. And I think it makes the whole scene. Picture it with me. There in the heart of Pilate’s headquarters, with white limestone columns, and towering walls of stone all around, a poor peasant from the hillside, bound with ropes, tunic dusty from the day before, sweat sticky on his skin, blood crusted on his cheek, stands before the most powerful man in the region; this lowly carpenter thrust before the empire with accusations of grandeur. It must have seemed a farce at first to the great Pontius Pilate. This thing, a King? He tries to be rid of the whole affair. These are not his people. But this Jesus of Nazareth is beguiling. He answers but doesn’t answer, piquing the curiosity even of this Roman agent of justice and law. He draws him in. Even in moments like this, Jesus had a way of leading others into depths of awareness and questioning they had never explored before. “Are you the King of the Jews?” Pilate asks. “Do you ask that on your own, or did they tell you about me?” Jesus responds. Pilate retorts, “Look, this is not my fight. What have you done that these people want you dead?” Jesus responds, “My kingdom, such as it is, is not the kind of kingdom you’re thinking about.” “Wait,” Pilate says, “so you are a king?” “I’m not interested in being a king. I’m interested in truth.” “What is truth?” The question echoes off the stone walls. How I wish I was a little Roman fly on those walls, for I long to know in what manner that question was asked. Was it said in disgust, by a man whose duties were dispatched in such a way that truth rarely entered the conversation? {What is truth?”} Or was he genuine, earnest, curious in his inquisition, as if he thought this unlikely hero from the north might actually be able to tell him something about truth? {What is truth?} Or was it another tone all together? I wish I knew for Pilate’s question is our question, and it has been for all time. What is truth? is one of the great lines of the New Testament, dramatic for its placement in the narrative, memorable for its brevity, ironic for it being asked of the one who was truth incarnate; it has all the makings of a moment that hits you right in the gut echoes in your ear long after you hear it.
Because the truth is, the truth is really what this moment is all about. Divine truth, the truth of God, that’s what Jesus is interested in proclaiming. He takes us there, he draws us there as he does Pilate. He shifts us from questions about kingship to questions about truth because truth holds more power and longevity in it than a thousand kings. But, as Al wisely said, truth is hard. Answers to the question prove elusive, which is why we’ve been asking it for thousands of years. And that’s why Jesus had to come in to the world to explain it to us. He says, “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.”
So what is that voice saying? So what is truth? Love. Over and over again. That’s the answer. That’s the truth Jesus came to testify to. That is the deep wisdom he sought to reveal to us in his earthly life about who God is and what God is about. Love. That’s what makes Christ the King—love and sacrifice, not power and privilege.
This isn’t news right? I hope not. But we do well to be reminded again and again that if you are searching for the truth of God in the midst of our humanity, that what we were made for and what we are called to, it is love. Love is what connects us, inspires us, motivates us, sustains us, comforts us, heals us, molds us, and shapes us. Jesus came to show us that God is love and where true love is, God Himself is there.
But he also came to show us that, like truth, love is hard. It may be the surest foundation upon which to build our existence but that does not stop the waves of life from crashing against it again and again. The Love of God is not easy, it is tried and tested but it shall not be shaken for no matter what comes our way, even death itself, love is stronger. Compared with love religion is easy. Coming to church, memorizing the prayer book, that’s all well and good, but those are trappings on an otherwise thorny, sweaty, sacrificial love that will challenge you and change you and give your life meaning and purpose at the same time. For it was love that brought Jesus into the world to begin with, and it was love that drove him into Jerusalem that last time, love that brought him to the table with his friends who would abandon him, love that allowed him to be betrayed, beaten and dragged before Pilate. It was love that led him to the cross, and it was also love that cradled him down and laid him tenderly in the tomb so that we could see that love did not stop there. Love was strong enough to transcend even this earthly life, to roll back that stone, to pull him back from the dead, and ultimately to crown him with many crowns. Love did all that because God is love. That’s the truth Jesus came to show us. That is the testimony of his birth, his life, his death, his resurrection, his ascension. Love and love and love and love. Love is what makes you King of kings and Lord of lords, as we proclaim this Christ the king Sunday, and it is open to each and every one of us should we be courageous enough to claim it. Love. That’s the truth.
Interestingly the Biblical text, for its part doesn’t actually record any response from Jesus to Pilate’s question. “What is truth?” is just left hanging in the air like a chord of music awaiting its tonal resolution. Events quickly roll on to their conclusion—the lashes, the nails, the wood, the tomb, the Resurrection, and we are left to wonder why Jesus didn’t answer. But just because Jesus didn’t say anything, doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t answer the question. I like to imagine that no matter whether Pilate spat those words in disgust or whispered them in curiosity, that instead of giving him answer, Jesus gave him a look. A look that went straight to his heart. A look like Al gave me that look beside the dumpster. Jesus lifts his eyes through beads of sweat, across an exhausted brow, stares right at Pilate, seizes him with his eyes and says to him without a word, “If you want to know truth, watch this.”