I don't typically title my sermons when I write them, but I think this title works for the jist of what I am saying here. Last week was a rough week for me, physically. My insistence on being superwoman when I'm not finally caught up with me and I have succumbed to the "once every five or six years" head and chest congestion. I managed to be well enough to go to Valdosta, but during the Collect for the Day, I had an annoying piece of phlegm get caught in my throat rendering me almost speechless halfway through! It was embarrassing.
Fortunately, some well placed lemon water by my chair restored my voice for the sermon and the rest of the service.
Because I wasn't feeling great last week, I was happy that we were on Christ the King Sunday...and the Gospel story from Luke about Jesus' crucifixion. I have already preached on this passage once before; hence I lifted some of the text of that sermon and used it again because it remains relevant. I also had written on this passage in previous entries... all of which combined with reading commentaries...made this sermon come together more quickly.
Add to it the fact that it was International Transgender Day of Remembrance, and we were going to be doing a service later that afternoon at St. Barnabas. In the current political climate, it felt right and necessary for me to reflect on the othering of transpeople who are regularly crucified in campaign ads.
On the way to St. Barnabas, I heard the news about another shooting at a queer nightclub in Colorado. I wrote that into my script when I got to the church. When I was preaching and got to that point, one of my congregants shouted out, "That's sad!"
"Yes," I said. "It is sad."
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Text: Luke 23:33-43
We’ve reached the end of this church calendar year with Luke… the
day that is commonly referred to as “Christ the King Sunday.” The church
started using that title for the Last Sunday After Pentecost since the early 20th
Century. All the hymns celebrate Jesus as the King…crowning him with many crowns…
letting angels prostrate fall before him.
And yet… here in our Gospel reading from Luke… we don’t see a Jesus
triumphant.
Instead we’re invited into the scene of his public execution.
He is mocked and scorned.
There is a nameless “they” who cast lots for his clothing as if
they are some kind of party favors.
“Leaders” most likely of the emperor’s clan taunt him.
Roman soldiers get in on the act…hurling snide commentary about him
being “the King of the Jews.”
Luke tells us “the people” stood by watching. The people were
likely fellow Jews…powerless in the face of this cruelty to do anything.
Terrified by the spectacle.
That was the point: to frighten any rebellious Jews from taking on
the Roman Empire.
They might have been angry and feeling let down.
After all… they had pinned their hopes on Jesus to the one to lead
them.
And here he is…hanging between two criminals.
Condemned to die.
Some king, eh?
For the Roman Empire… this is a brilliant strategy. It’s the one
all authoritarians and bullies…both then and now…like to employ.
They’ve reduced Jesus and his ministry to a joke.
Encouraging an ethic of love,
loving the stranger as your neighbor,
forgiving the wayward one who comes home and
says, “I’m a screw up and am not worthy,”
healing people struggling with all kinds of
demons;
that’s not how a powerful person lives their
life. By earthly standards, such caring and compassionate behavior shows
weakness and vulnerability.
But then isn’t it interesting that even though
there are three people being crucified, only Jesus draws out the ire of the
powerful.
There’s something about Jesus that makes them
so bitter that they make a spectacle of his death.
Something about him has a strange pull on
them. He seems to be such a threat to their comfort at the top that they feel
they must not only inflict punishment and shame on him; they must kill him in
order to remain strong.
Perhaps deep inside their hearts they are
also afraid.
Maybe they sense that he is stronger
than them and his strength might expose their own weakness.
That is the paradox of being a bully, isn’t
it? It’s because they are weak, the bullies and tyrants of the world act out in
destructive ways to mask their own vulnerability.
Their shadow selves hide behind a mask of
brutality because they know they aren’t really that powerful at all.
They search out those who they think are weak
to attack so they can feel strong.
It’s a strange providential coincidence that
this Christ the King Sunday corresponds with the international Transgender Day
of Remembrance… a time when we pause to pay homage to the lives lost due to
violent hatred of those who are “othered.”
Recently… we have seen in a state just to the
south of us… that those in places of power and privilege have used their positions
to heap more hardship on trans children and their families. The Florida Medical
Board has adopted a rule banning doctors from providing necessary hormone therapy
and care for children who are experiencing gender dysphoria.
Politicians in this last election cycle felt
no shame in running campaign ads which demonized trans youth and played upon
fears of trans people. And just last night in Colorado Springs… a gun man
killed five people and injured 18 others at an LGBTQ+ nightclub.
Such cynical and blatant “othering” runs
counter to Jesus’ stated mission:
To bring good news to the poor,
Sight to the blind,
Release to the captives,
And freedom to the oppressed. (Luke 4:18)
As we reflect on this scene of Jesus’ crucifixion…
it’s interesting to see that the one person who recognizes Jesus is not a
leader. Not a soldier.
It’s one of the criminals…another one who is “othered”
in society.
This man…who is broken and among the lowly…is
the one person who can see the divinity of Christ shining through that bruised
and battered skin.
He senses Jesus’ power…even as they both hang
dying at the hands of earthly powers.
Perhaps… this is why so many who have ever
felt “othered” by the world…when they meet the risen Christ in their lives…
find in him a true king.
A real leader.
Kindred spirit.
And the man earnestly begs Jesus: remember me.
Please, remember me when you come into your kingdom.
This is the king who can maintain compassion
in the face of violent opposition.
A king who can resist anger and can keep
loving and forgiving all the way to the end.
A king being unjustly crucified by a corrupt
system and yet can still maintain dignity enough to promise Paradise to the
repentant criminal.
If social media had existed in the First
Century, Jesus would have been vilified by all those hiding behind their
avatars. Because he is type of king whose power of love and true righteous
justice intimidates and topples the bullies who feed on fear and hatred.
We proclaim Christ as King because…in his
dying and then his rising again… Jesus makes a pledge to the one on the lowest
rung of society.
To that one he will restore and liberate him
from his worst self…and deliver him from his separation from God.
If Jesus can say this to a criminal, how much
more so do his words apply to us? How much more is he bringing us into his
mission to face the injustices of our time which keep people in poverty, keep
them captive to their fears and addictions, and press down upon those who yearn
to breathe free?
This promise of being “re-membered” into
God’s kingdom is renewed each time we come to this Eucharistic table and
receive the body and blood of Christ. We are being renewed and reinvigorated
with a life force, grounded in love, to resist the powers of this world that
want to break us. When we take in Christ we are being given the strength to
meet the needs of our community in the mission of God to love those who are the
lost and the alone… and to give comfort to those who are afraid.
It's through us and our resilience to live
into that love that we bring Christ into the world. And it is in this
way…working through us… Christ reigns as a true king on earth as in
heaven.
In the name of God…F/S/HS.
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