Today is Christ the King Sunday, the final feast of the Church calendar; it is interesting that one of the texts Lisa used was the trial scene in the Fourth Gospel, precisely because here we have the clearest definition of what Jesus' Kingdom is and what it is not.
It is also interesting because Karl Barth based his political theology, as set forth in his long essay "Church and State", on a reading of this passage, with an eye always on the question of power and authority, and the irony embedded within the appearance before the ultimate worldly power in the person of the Roman governor, Pilate, and Jesus, the incarnate Son of God.
Yet, these are not the issues with which I want to deal. I was struck, once again, by the power of Jesus' refusal to deal with Pilate's questions in any direct way. Indeed, when Pilate asks Jesus if he, Jesus, is indeed the king of the Jews, Jesus replies, "You have said it." In other words, Jesus refuses to answer the question, but forces Pilate to confront his complicity in not understanding just what is transpiring in this little meeting.
What I have always found even more fascinating is the way Jesus anticipates Pilate's final question, answering it before it is given breath, talking about those who live in the Truth - and in John's Gospel Jesus has already indicated that he, not some abstract definition or disembodied set of principles, or timeless metaphysical substance is what constitute "Truth" - are those who hear his words and live by them. Yet, even after Jesus has given Pilate more than enough information, he still asks, "What is Truth?"
There is a part of me that wishes Jesus had at least smiled, if not laughed out loud, showing contempt not only for the question, but for the obvious living out of the point he, Jesus, was trying to make. The Truth, not some abstract set of words or vague, metaphysical thing, but the living, breathing human being standing in front of Pilate had already quite explicitly told Pilate what Truth is, and how it has the power to change whole Empires; death cannot overcome it, raw political force collapses in the face of its never ending grace. Yet, precisely because Pilate is wedded to these things, these transitory phenomena that seduce yet betray, he would rather pose a question in a way that makes sense to him, even though, had he been paying attention, has already been shown to be meaningless.
Would that more of us could emulate Jesus at this moment. Would that more of us could confront the stupidity, blindness, and hubris of naked force with the understanding that it is a hollow shell, wedded to ways of thinking and living that ignore the reality that stands right here, asking nothing but offering everything. Pilate reached his decision based on the careful, but ultimately wrong, calculation that this one man's death would make little difference. To Pilate, Jesus' words made no sense because he spoke of unworldly kingdoms, of people living out the Truth because they had heard it, and met it.
We all need, again and again, to remember that the forces of this world - power, ruthless ambition, the desire to dominate - stand exposed for all their emptiness and fruitlessness in this confrontation between the Roman governor and the provincial prophet. Even before his death and resurrection, Jesus had already stripped the Roman Empire of its clothes, revealing the ridiculous pretense hiding underneath the white robes of power. We Christians need, always, to remember that the threats posed by this world have already been shown to be almost comically weak when faced with the reality of God made flesh. It should embolden us to refuse to take the bait, to refuse to answer questions for which we have already given an answer, and to go about doing what needs to be done, knowing that whatever victory the world may claim over our lives is always hollow.
