A Different World

Scripture Lesson: John 18: 33-38a

Dr. Matthew S. Brown

November 26, 2006

I was reading one of those obligatory holiday themed articles the other day. You know the ones I’m talking about. Every Thanksgiving the news stations and newspapers will carry numerous stories highlighting some turkey who escaped capital punishment or the plight of vegetarians at a poultry centered meal or the price of gas for travelers on the highway home. You have to feel sorry for the reporter who for the umpteenth year in a row has to station himself outside the Shell Station, gas pump in hand, saying something like: “This Thanksgiving, millions of Americans will not only be filling their stomachs but also their tanks, hopefully without emptying their wallets.” Now, that’s journalism!

This particular New York Times food section article suggested that the real stress of Thanksgiving was not in getting the feast to the table but in putting up with the people who have gathered around the table. She mentioned a friend whose festive feast effectively tanked when her grandmother called her brother a cowardly communist. “O Grandma!”

She made the good point that since Americans so seldom eat as families around the table anymore in this fast food, take out, dine out, television around the clock, eat alone culture we inhabit, we have little clue as to how to function without dysfunction when we add 10 to 20 people to the table we never use.

So the article offered thoughts and suggestions about maintaining the peace around the turkey, “Pass the drumstick, and an olive branch.” She quoted someone who referred to herself as an etiquette instructor and as the long-time “manners consultant” for the Plaza Hotel. I read that and I thought: How do you put that on a business card with a straight face? I had visions of a prickly matron scolding weary Manhattan tourists for putting their elbows on the table.

And yet by Thursday night you might have been wishing you had invested in a manners consultant or a United Nations peace negotiator to avoid the after dinner frost brought on by family members who ventured into the territory of taboo table topics.

Given that my vocation and interest are centered on one of the most taboo of table topics, I try to maintain a low profile at family gatherings, seeing it as my contribution to a peaceable kingdom or at the least a frost-free afternoon.

It goes without saying that religion is and always has been among the most combustible of conversation topics. Competing truths, or should I say, competing and flammable and fervently held interpretations of truth bump up against one another resulting in disagreement, argument, Inquisition, blood, death, war, and rumors of war. One moment two brothers are arguing over who received God’s blessing and the next moment the scale of death bears the unmistakable signs of genocide.

It is not the truth that causes the bloodshed. It is our inability to understand, comprehend, or know what to do with the truth. Think about it, if a truth is eternal, from the very start we are incapable of comprehending or assimilating it because we are not eternal. But that has never seemed to stop us from claiming to own the truth and seeking to hold it over the heads of all who would dare to disagree with us.

The confession we offer in the first portion of our worship service is an acknowledgement that the one time we were physically confronted with ultimate truth, we sought to destroy it.

Our passage this morning takes us to the praetorian of the Roman prelate in Jerusalem. Pilate, was the prelate’s name, a mid-level official/manager in the Roman hierarchy, a prickly, bully of a man familiar with the headaches of trying to keep in the good graces of the many egos he answered to in Rome, while also keeping a lid on the violence of a populace chafing under the unwelcome presence of Roman rule.

When Jesus arrived before him as a special delivery from the Jewish High priest, he represented for Pilate one more headache during an already tense situation. Jerusalem was certainly not a perk of Pilate’s job. Pilate’s preferred residence was in Caesarea, but he had to make the unenviable visit to Jerusalem when the crowds of Jewish pilgrims arrived for the religious festivals.

The great theologian Reinhold Neibuhr said, “We may imagine Pilate the typical wielder of political power. Toward Jesus he had that attitude of mingled admiration and contempt which the man of power usually displays toward the power of pure goodness.

Pilate’s chief interest in Jesus was to determine whether his type of kingship represented a real threat to the Roman imperium. The chief priests had insisted that it did. In their indictments of Jesus before the Jewish court they had emphasized the religious implications of the Messianic idea and had accused him of blasphemy. Before the Roman court they emphasized the political implications of the Messianic idea (which Jesus had, incidentally, specifically disavowed) and accused him of treason. What Pilate wanted to know was whether this man before him was really a harmless religious dreamer and prophet or a dangerous insurrectionist.” (Reinhold Niebuhr, Beyond Tragedy)

A dreamer would not be much of a problem. A would be king, could be a big problem.

“Are you a king?” “My kingdom," said Jesus, "doesn't consist of what you see around you. If it did, my followers would fight so that I wouldn't be handed over to the Jews. But I'm not that kind of king, not the world's kind of king." 37 Then Pilate said, "So, are you a king or not?" Jesus answered, "You tell me. Because I am King, I was born and entered the world so that I could witness to the truth. Everyone who cares for truth, who has any feeling for the truth, recognizes my voice." 38 Pilate said, "What is truth?"

“What is truth?” Pilate’s question is not just the question of a cynical and self-involved government official, it is the question with which generations of believers, followers, disciples, Christians have struggled and very often fumbled and bumbled.

Truth is a word that shows up a lot in John:

John 1 - And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; . . . For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.

John 3 - He who does what is true, comes to the light.

John 16 - When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth.

John 8 - Jesus then said to the Jews who had believed in Him, "If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”

John 14 - "I am the way, and the truth, and the life.".

Paul Tillich said, “If Jesus says, ‘I am the truth,’ he indicates that in Him the true, the genuine, the ultimate reality is present; or, in other words, that God is present, unveiled, undistorted, in His infinite depth, in His unapproachable mystery. Jesus is not the truth because His teachings are true. But His teachings are true because they express the truth which He Himself is. He is more than His words. And He is more than any word said about Him.” (Paul Tillich, The New Being)

Sometimes, though, Jesus is also very different than many words said about him. In regard to the truth of Jesus, Christians have tended to lean in one of two directions. Some drift toward a more exclusivist, triumphalistic, my-way-or-the-highway, I’m right – so you must be wrong , Unless you understand Jesus like me/your faith isn’t real, attitude and approach to the world.

Others, with the hope of maintaining peace, drift toward an attitude that seeks comfort with the idea that it doesn’t really matter what you believe.

The problem with the first attitude is the way it breeds arrogance, prejudice, self-righteousness, and violence. The problem with the second is that it not only diminishes the role of the Christ we claim, but it also diminishes the faith held by people of other faith traditions. To say it doesn’t matter what you believe demeans not only my faith as a Christian, but would also diminish my faith were I a Jew or a Muslim. Of course, it matters what you believe. If it didn’t, why believe at all?

It is my trust in the truth of Jesus and his lordship over all creation that gives me the hope of living in peace with people of other faith traditions. As Will Willimon says, “As a Christian, I embrace (my neighbor, be he Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Hindi) not because of my belief in universal human goodness or my perception of the commonality of our faiths, but because I am trying to follow a Master who came to me, a stranger, and embraced me as a brother, and who bids me do the same to others. The truthfulness of my faith must be judged on how well it teaches me to live without murderous fear or nihilistic despair. Without the resources of the Christian story I simply don’t have the resources to live peacefully in this violent world.” (Will Willimon, The Christian Century)

If Jesus is the truth, it is not our job as his followers to prove everyone else wrong, nor is it our job to say to our neighbors that, “It doesn’t really matter what you believe.” Rather, it is our job to acknowledge that this is our truth, this is our story, as it has been revealed to us. How does the old hymn put it? “This is my story, this is my song…”

Our only hope is to live in this truth, reflecting the love of Christ and remembering that Christ’s reconciling love is not a love that seeks to condemn the world but is God’s gift to the world.

It is not a love that seeks to destroy, for that would not be love.

It is not a love that seeks to coerce, for that would not be love.

It is not a love that refuses to listen, for that would not be love.

It is not a love that demands agreement before it is given, for that would not be love.

It is not a love that demeans people of other faiths, or mocks their expression of it, for that would not be love.

It is not a love that would regard any life as less than cherished by God, for that would not be love.

In a world of competing truth claims, our role as followers of Christ is to reflect the truth of Christ, who in life and death “exemplified [a] boundless good will and steadfast love that would suffer and die and descend into hell before it would be anything less than holy love.” (John Rogers)

When the well known preacher, Fred Craddock was a freshman in a small Bible College, he was deeply impressed by a visiting speaker. Rear Admiral Thornton Miller was the highest ranking chaplain in the military at the time. Miller had been at Normandy on that June day of the slaughter, and he described it that evening in the dorm to some of the students. He shared his memory of going from soldier to soldier as they screamed, and cried, and died. Moving from soldier to soldier he would try to say a few words of comfort, have prayer, words of comfort, have prayer.

One of the students asked, “Up and down the beach, with the shells going everywhere? Why did you do that?”

His answer, “I’m a minister [of Christ].”

And the person began again, “But you didn’t ask if they were Catholic or Protestant or Jewish? Did you just… I mean, if you’re a minister…”

The admiral said, “If you’re a minister [of Christ], the only question you ask is, ‘Can I help you?’” (Fred Craddock, Craddock Stories)

In regards to the truth of Christ, whether you’re an admiral, a follower, a seeker, or a doubting disciple, your role is not to flaunt it or diminish it, but to reflect it in humble acts of love. Amen.

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