“What Is Truth?” (John 18:28-40)

     The next time I stand in this pulpit, it’ll be the new year.  No . . . not that new year, but the new church year, the cosmic year of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Next Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent, when we’ll begin our tense anticipation of the Savior’s coming.  This Sunday is the last of the calendar – Christ the King Sunday – when we sum up Jesus’ life by declaring just who and what he is.  And the lectionary readings explore what it means to be king, to wield power, what it means for humans, and what it means for Christ.  In Samuel, we read the death-bed words of King David, where he admitted that when the spirit of the Lord spoke through him, it was not he who spoke, it was the Lord who spoke through him . . . and what God said was that David ruled in the fear of the Lord, wholly within God’s provenance and will.  And the Psalm appointed for today, Psalm 132, makes it clear that his dynasty is contingent as well, dependent upon the good graces of God.  “If your sons keep my covenant and my decrees that I shall teach them,” God says, “their sons also, forevermore, shall sit on your throne.”  The survival of David’s heirs on the throne is conditioned upon the grace and favor of God.

     Our Gospel reading looks at power as well, both political and theological, and what it means to say Jesus is King.  You will of course recognize it as part of the trial of Jesus by Pilate; many scholars think it’s John’s finest hour as a writer – it’s been studied in literature classes as a model example of dramatic irony.  John has structured the story into seven dramatic scenes, each one taking place on one of two “stages,” either inside Pilate’s headquarters, unclean for the religious authorities, or outside its doors, on the portico.  And the entire story revolves around Pilate moving back and forth between his governor’s headquarters – where Jesus is – and outside, where the religious authorities are, but – ironically – Jesus is not.  Talk about your shuttle diplomacy.

     But first there’s a prologue: the religious leaders – whom John calls “the Jews”  – take Jesus from the chief priest to Pilate’s Roman headquarters, but they themselves don’t enter it, to avoid ritual defilement.  The Passover’s the next day, and if they are ritually unclean, they can’t celebrate it, and so our drama begins with a picture of the religious leaders of the day, clearly bent on destroying Jesus, but unwilling to sully themselves by going into the unclean building.  So you can picture the scene: bearded and resplendent scribes milling around out on the front porch, muttering to one another in the early morning sun, up against stony, impassive columns, their shuffling presence versus silent Roman power . . .

     Scene One: They won’t go in, so Pilate comes out, standing on the porch . . . he surveys them for a few minutes, long enough to let them know who’s in control – and it’s not them, not these hick-country-bumpkin scribes and councilmen – and then he speaks: “What accusation do you bring against this man?”  But the religious authorities don’t really answer him, do they?  They just assure him that Jesus is a criminal, or else why would they have given him over to Pilate?  And note what this does . . . it asserts their authority – implicitly, at least – over and against the Roman overlord . . . it’s like “we’re the Sanhedrin . . . would we have handed you over to them if he wasn’t guilty?  We think not!”

     But Pilate’s having none of it – he’s not governor for nothing – and so he says “why don’t you judge him yourself?”  Why bother the Roman might and authority with your puny little problems?  And here’s where the truth is revealed: “We can’t put him to death,” they say, and by doing this, they reveal their agenda . . . they wanted Jesus dead, but they couldn’t – or wouldn’t  – do it themselves.  Just which one of those – couldn’t or wouldn’t – has been the cause of some debate.  Some think that the Sanhedrin wasn’t allowed to sentence criminals to death, but others think they were currying Roman favor . . . but for whatever reason, it caused Jesus to be executed in the Roman style – by crucifixion – rather than stoning.  And John tells us that this brings to fulfillment prophecies about the way he will die.

     And by interrupting the story with commentary, he’s making a statement right up front about the entire proceedings: all the machinations of the religious authorities, all the maneuvering about by Pilate, the cold-political power play, all are in the service of God’s agenda, not theirs . . .

     Scene two: Pilate goes back inside, where Jesus is, and right away asks him: “Are you the King of the Jews?”  And this serves immediately to show the intertwined political and religious agendas in Palestine, and that Pilate was well aware of the threat Jewish messianic hopes posed to the Roman government.  And so he asks him, straight out – “Are you the King of the Jews?”  And as always in John’s gospel, Jesus answers with another question; “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Like “did you come here on your own, or did yo’ mama send you?”  It’s insulting, insinuating, and it points up once again that Pilate may not be as in control as he thinks . . . but Pilate’s reply shows his contempt of the Jewish people “I am not a Jew, am I?”  and he asks him again: what have you done?

     And once again, Jesus doesn’t answer directly, but goes straight to the heart of the matter . . . Pilate’s worried about some rabble-rouser stirring up the peasants, and Jesus tells him the truth: “my kingdom” – and here a better translation might be “kingship” or “reign” – “my rein’s not from this world . . . if it were from this world, then you’d have to worry, my followers would be fighting, there’d be bloodshed . . . but as it is, my kingship is not from here.”  And we’re immediately reminded by these familiar words of Jesus telling his disciples “I am from above . . . not of this world” And so we know his kingship, his rule, his power is from God above.

     But Pilate doesn’t know that, and he doesn’t understand – “So . . . does that mean you’re a king?”  He’s single-minded, only interested in one thing, whether Jesus is a threat to him and his rule or not.  And all this talk about this world and the other are like water over the bridge . . . “so lemme get this straight – are you a king or not?”  And Jesus in effect tells him: You’re the one worried about that . . .  you say that I’m a king . . . I was born for one thing, and that’s what I came into the world to do, to testify – in Greek, to martyr – to the truth. . . . and anyone who belongs to that truth, anyone who is of that truth, listens to my voice, understands what I am saying.

     And Pilate, in his arrogance, in his single-minded pragmatism, wouldn’t know truth if it bit him on the nose, and he doesn’t seem to care, either, and our scene ends with his cynical “What is truth?”  And he turns to go back outside, to the waiting religious authorities.

     And in scene 3, we see his ultimate mastery of the machines of political control and intrigue . . . “I find no case against him,” he says “But!  But . . . you have a custom, that I release someone at Passover – do you want your King?  Do you want me to release the King of the Jews?”  And here he shows his contempt for them, taunting them by calling Jesus their king.  But the religious authorities take the bait – and after all, it gets them what they want as well – they take the bait and choose to release Barabbas, and thus sentence Jesus to die.

     And in that moment, as Pilate is symbolically outside, separated from Jesus, he’s with the religious authorities spiritually as well as physically.  We can see the full irony in the whole situation, as he who scorns the country-bumpkin temple officials,  he who asks in contempt “What am I, a Jew?”  shows that the answer, symbolically at least, is yes.  He indeed is one of the religious authorities as far as the Kingdom of God, he is no different: he does not belong to the truth, does not listen to Jesus’ voice . . . just as he is outside of his own headquarters, he is outside the reign of God, which is from above, not from this world.

     And what is the heart of this difference?  What is the way in which the rule of God, the kingship of Jesus Christ differs from that of the world?  The key is in Pilate’s behavior, in his very pragmatic handling of the whole affair . . . the first question out of his mouth is “Are you the king of the Jews?”  By which he means “Are you a threat to Roman rule?  Will you lead a rebellion, an uprising of the Hebrew people against me?”  For Pilate, king is synonymous with violence, with sedition, with holding onto power by whatever means possible.  As governor of Judea, stand-in for Emperor Tiberius, he knows no other kind of king than what he represents . . . for him, kings scheme and maneuver, put down armed revolts with Imperial shock troops, and order the crucifixion of political prisoners . . . that’s why he concludes that there’s nothing to charge Jesus with.  It’s not out of the goodness of his heart, not the result of some religious conversion . . . Jesus says his reign is not from the world . . . if it were, his followers would be using violence to keep the religious authorities at bay . . . it’s when he hears that, that Pilate knows that Jesus is no threat.

     Pilate’s reign, his kingship, if you will, is based on menace, on violence, and it’s maintained by soldiers with bow and spear and sword, and the threat of Imperial invasion.  Jesus’ kingship, the Kingdom of God, is based on non-retaliation, on non-violence, on the command to Love the Lord your God and your neighbor as yourself.

     Pilate asked “What is truth?” and turned and walked outside, away from truth, away from the king who came to testify to that truth . . . and by that symbolic action, he showed he did not belong to that truth, and he joined the religious authorities, he joined the people who were willing to commit violence – to execute political prisoners, to go to war –  to maintain their power.  Like  Pilate, I think we all make the choice: do we belong to the truth?  Do we hear Jesus’ voice?  Do we serve the violent leaders of the world, who talk about what great Christians they are, what men and women of God, and then use violence to preserve their power?  Do we support them with our votes and political contributions?  Or do we really follow Jesus, the innocent lamb who refused to use violence even to save his own life?  We cannot follow both.

     This is Christ the King Sunday, and it behooves us to remember what that means . . . it’s not Christ the Mighty Warrior King Sunday, not Christ the Lawgiver and dispenser of punishment Sunday . . . neither is it Christ who-bombs innocents to protect the national interests Sunday, or Christ who lies and cheats to stay in power Sunday . . . on the contrary, it’s Christ the King under arrest and interrogation Sunday, Christ the innocent victim Sunday.  It’s Christ the King being held hostage Sunday and Christ the King soon to be beaten and crucified Sunday . . . that’s whose Sunday it is, folks, and that’s the king we follow.

          Anybody who tells you different, who tells you that Christ – who is God after all, who is love, after all – wants us to go use force and violence to preserve our stuff – or even our lives – isn’t talking about any Christ that I know . . . the Christ I know loved the world so much that he came to earth, emptied himself of power, and became a martyr for truth, so that we may be set free.  Amen.