November 22, 2015: May God’s words alone be spoken, may God’s words alone be heard. Amen.
This Sunday we enter into a week of thanksgiving to God for all of life. We gather with family and friends, and laugh, cry, and re-arrange the dishwasher the “right way,” after someone else has loaded it.
And today, we bring forward our pledges to this church – doing our part to help this parish to grow in faith and service. We also bring forward our gifts of groceries for those who are in need, and receive back handmade gifts of thanksgiving from our Nursery School Children. What a day of thanksgiving!
To be sure, there is a lot for which to be thankful, and there is also a great deal of pain and despair in the world too. The news of the past few weeks, and really the past few years, may leave us wondering how to be thankful in such a broken world. Maybe the story of Martin Rinkart, will help.
“German pastor Martin Rinkart served in the walled town of Eilenburg during the horrors of the Thirty Years’ War of 1618-1648. Eilenburg became an overcrowded refuge for the surrounding area. The fugitives suffered from epidemic and famine. At the beginning of 1637, the year of the Great Pestilence, there were four ministers in Eilenburg. But one abandoned his post for healthier areas and could not be persuaded to return. Pastor Rinkart officiated at the funerals of the other two. As the only pastor left, he often conducted funeral services for as many as 40 to 50 persons a day—[nearly 5,000] in all. In May of that year, his own wife died. By the end of the year, the refugees had to be buried in trenches without services.
Yet, [despite] living in a world dominated by [fear and] death, Pastor Rinkart wrote the following prayer for his children to offer to God:
Now thank we all our God
With hearts and hands and voices;
Who wondrous things hath done,
In whom this world rejoices.
Who, from our mother’s arms,
Hath led us on our way,
With countless gifts of love,
And still is ours today.”[1]
And that is our closing hymn today. Perhaps we can leave here, with that hymn in our heart, and remember that no matter how dark things may be, the light of Christ is always stronger.
But this time of year also brings about endings and beginnings. Today is the final Sunday of our Church year, some call it Christ the King Sunday. Christ the King Sunday is relatively new. Also called Reign of Christ, to avoid yet another attempt to box the Trinity into all male imagery. But the idea of Christ as King is not new in concept. The early Christians would name Jesus as Lord – and for the same reason the idea of this Sunday was created in 1925 – to ensure that people understood that human heads of state were not the final authority.
But, in doing so, we are forgetting that Jesus rejected that title. After feeding the 5,000, he sensed that the people, caught up in miracle, would try to seize him and name him king, so he left and retreated from them. And in the gospel reading for today, Jesus has been brought by the Jewish authorities before Pilate the Roman Governor of the area that included Jerusalem. Pilate asks Jesus if he is “the King of the Jews.” Jesus said, “You say that I am a king.” Again, refusing to own what others would name him.
Maybe that is why I am not a big fan of this Christ the King thing. Jesus would not allow others to define him in that way, because he knew that any earthly understanding of kingship would be inadequate to describe who he is, so why should we? It would be, as any definition of God is, far too limiting, and it would align Jesus with human empire – something he fought against – and given many of today’s governmental leaders – would likely find insulting.
But Jesus does offer to Pilate his own explanation of who he is, saying, “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.” This then led to Pilate’s mocking reply, which for reasons I can’t quite understand, our lectionary leaves out of this lesson for today, but anyway – Pilate says “What is truth?”
What is truth?
Listen to that carefully – “everyone who belongs to the truth.” What does that mean? “What is truth” and how does one “belong” to it?
Truth is a funny thing. Many claim to speak it, but are they?
I am reminded of the ancient and often told tale of the six blind men and the elephant. In one version of the story, it says that six blind men were asked to determine what an elephant was by touching it. The blind man who feels a leg says the elephant is like a pillar; the one who feels the tail says the elephant is like a rope; the one who feels the trunk says the elephant is like a tree branch; the one who feels the ear says the elephant is like a hand fan; the one who feels the belly says the elephant is like a wall; and the one who feels the tusk says the elephant is like a solid pipe.
Now, there is a corresponding tale about – Six blind elephants that were discussing what humans were like. After arguing they decided to find one and determine what it was like by direct experience. The first blind elephant reared up to put his front legs on the man to see what he felt like and declared – “Men are flat.” After all the blind elephants stood on the man, they agreed.
Of course the meaning of the original fable is clear – each of the blind men’s experience was truth – even though each had a different truth than the other.
One might say that, in the case of history, there is only one true way that things went down. But is that really true? They say that when six people witness a car accident, six different versions of that experience will be relayed if asked about it. Does that negate the truth of there having been a car accident in the first place?
Our own scriptures are like that. We love these books of the bible, and we should, yet – as those who attended the Adult Forum on the gospels already know – the depiction of Jesus in each one is not entirely the same. In fact, while similarities exist, especially across what we call the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke – their Christologies – or views of who Jesus was – are different. That is because they were written by and for different people.
In my first year of seminary, a fellow student was having a severe crisis of faith. After sitting in the New Testament class for the better part of the semester, he told me that he was leaving seminary, and perhaps his faith behind with it. When I asked him why, he said that “if every verse of the bible isn’t true, than where does that leave me?” And in a Pilate sort of way, I asked him “What is truth?” I asked him, “Do you know the exact thing Martin Luther King, Jr. ate the day before he was killed? Does that change the truth of who he was? Or Mahatma Gandhi – do you know exactly what he did every day of his life? – Does that change who he was for you? These gospel writers were writing of their experience of the living and the risen Christ. It is truth in the same way that each of us could write of our experience of that same Christ living within us here and now.” He did leave seminary, but returned a year later, and is now a pastor in a local church.
Jesus is calling us to a higher truth. But, again, “what is truth” and how do we belong to it? We seem to equate truth with fact. But listen again to Jesus. He says, “Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” We can’t belong to fact. Belonging is a relational thing – and perhaps that is the key to all of this.
And is important to consider these questions on truth and belonging as we enter into Advent next Sunday, because there are always folks who want to tell us their truth. A few years ago, a group called “American Atheists” put up billboards with a nativity scene in the background and the words “You know it’s a myth. This season celebrate reason.” Hmmm…. I guess they never heard of the Anglican three-legged stool – the foundation of our life as Episcopalians – that states that our faith is guided by scripture, tradition, and reason. But, according to their reasoning, their truth, the experiences of Jesus expressed by the gospel writers Matthew and Luke (the only ones to speak of Jesus’ birth) are a myth because they cannot be supported by empirical evidence, and myth in their minds has no value. So, the blind man standing at the elephant’s leg, and experiencing an elephant as being a great pillar, is speaking myth? That, my friends, is a slippery slope, because to deny the experience of another, is to deny the humanity of another. It is not done by one who seeks truth – but one who seeks to marginalize. Yet I was unhappy to see pro-Christian groups putting up anti-atheist billboards in response. Why? Because truth does not need our protection or defense, just our voice and our lives. Truth can be crucified – it will be crucified – and it will not die. Jesus knew that.
Maybe we can best measure truth by what it does to us when we hear it. The Episcopal priest and author, Barbara Brown Taylor, once related this story: “I remember being at a retreat once where the leader asked us to think of someone who represented Christ in our lives. When it came time to share our answers, one woman stood up and said, “I had to think hard about that one. I kept thinking, ‘Who is it who told me the truth about myself so clearly that I wanted to kill him for it?”’”
Indeed. And perhaps the reverse is true – we know falsehood by what it does to us when we hear it too.
Part of living as the body of Christ means that we have to be the truth tellers – the ones calling out for change – change that may make others uncomfortable – change that brings about a world in which all people are able to live in peace, with dignity, and feeling loved. What would that mean for us today?
It would mean that when people are speaking their truth, but their truth leads to fear rather than love…we would know it to be false – it would not be the voice of Jesus. It would mean we would not abandon who we are for expedient, popular, or fear based rhetoric. This last week has been filled with all of that too, and it angered me. I posted this on Facebook in reaction to the news that some governors, including our own, and the United States Congress, are hoping to prevent refugees from Syria from entering our country as they seek safety from the terrorism in their war torn homeland:
“Every year, thousands are killed in the United States, including children, by handguns and assault weapons, and our governments do nothing about it. But a single terrorist event in France resulting in 130 deaths (and yes, even a single death is unacceptable), and our government springs into action with unconscionable acts that run counter to who we are supposed to be as a nation.
Even more unfathomable is that many of these same governmental people would call themselves people of faith, most of them would say they are Christian and go to church on Sunday. Really? Did they ever READ the bible? [“The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” That is all over our Hebrew scriptures. [And, being a Christian, as our own texts make clear] – means doing this: “…I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”
Being a Christian isn’t something you do on Sundays, but something you live.
Shame on all of those who would shut the door in the face of the stranger who needs our help. That is NOT who we are as Americans, and certainly NOT who we are as a people of faith. We are the nation that stands by these words inscribed on the Statue of Liberty:
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.””
But more than that for us here today, we are a people of faith who stand by these words: “Love one another as I have loved you.”
That, my friends, is the real truth of who Jesus was, and who we are now as the body of Christ. It is why he rejected any earthly title of King – because he would never want to be placed in the company of earthly rulers – and can you blame him? His was a model of servant leadership, and it is how we are to live our lives – that is the truth of who we are, and what we are called to do. It is the voice we are called to belong to.
The question is for us today – What truth stares back at us in the mirror? What truth do we live out in our daily lives? What truth are we running from? Is Christ reflected in it? Do we belong to it? Are we speaking it to others, especially those in power? Or are we trying to crucify it, because we are uncomfortable with what it might mean for us?
Next Sunday marks the beginning of Advent – a time of preparation and reflection. But for what are we preparing? Wise Men, Stars, Shepherds, Virgin Births. Yes, and No. We are preparing for the love that surpasses all understanding – for the incarnate One – for Jesus that was and is and is to come – if we only open our hearts and minds to hear the voice of Christ – to belong to his Truth – and then to live it out in our lives.
Wishing you all the blessings of Thanksgiving.
Amen.
For the audio of the sermon from the 10:30am service, click here:
[1] Wikipedia.
The Rev. Diana L. Wilcox
Christ Church in Bloomfield & Glen Ridge
November 22, 2015
Pentecost Last – Year B
1st Reading – 2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-13, (14-19)
2nd Reading – Revelation 1:4b-8
Gospel – John 18:33-37
