Jeremiah 23: 1-6; Luke 23: 33-43

When I was the parent of toddlers, familiar objects sometimes turned up in strange places.  I remember going into the kitchen one morning, opening the door of the refrigerator and seeing a Barbie doll alongside a carton of eggs and a jug of milk.

This same phenomenon can also occur in religious settings.  I recall a wedding I attended at Augusta Stone Presbyterian Church near Staunton, Virginia.  During the Doxology, a dog, a Labrador retriever, as I recall, intruded upon our worship space.  He was reverent and respectful-no howling or loud panting.  But seeing him walking up and down the aisle was a strange site amidst the familiar surroundings of a sanctuary.  Then, here, during worship a couple of years ago an uninvited bird flew around the chandelier and finally perched itself on the cross.  Familiar objects turning up in unexpected places.

This morning’s gospel reading is a familiar story that has turned up in a strange place.  The reading is the Passion narrative, the story of Jesus’ death.  It is a part of the Scriptures that logically is found on Passion Sunday or Good Friday. 

What is it doing here on this fourth Sunday of November? What is the long awaited king of Israel doing on the cross?  Should not the king be seen leading his troops into battle?  Shouldn’t he be seen sitting on a majestic throne, wearing a gold crown?  Oddly enough, the cross is this king’s throne. Strangely, the king’s court consists of two convicted criminals, one on his right, and the other on his left.  Peculiar, isn’t it, that a king would be the object of mockery and sarcasm. 

“If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself.”

But in saving himself, the world would be lost.  In giving himself up, the world is saved. 

As people saved from sin and death and now given this free gift of love, we are called to a life lived after the example of Jesus.  We are called to live under his reign of love, justice and peace. 

When we say, “Jesus is Lord” (and we say it every week through the Apostles’ Creed), we are making a most radical claim.  It is a claim that denies the lordship of everything else in the world.  The heart-felt claim means that consumerism cannot be our Lord.  It means that we cannot submit our lives to revenge or hatred or to our own will.  It means that you and I are to be benevolent and compassionate, lovers of peace, ambassadors of Christ, even at the risk of being viewed by the world as “out of place”, peculiar, odd and strange.  In the book Resident Aliens: Life in the Christian Colony, William Willimon and Stanley Hauerwas write:

 

“Christianity is an invitation to be part of a people who make a difference because they see something that cannot otherwise be seen without Christ.”

         

When our lives are lived under the reign of Christ, we view the world through a new set of lenses.  We no longer see the hungry of the world as derelicts, but as people with whom Jesus most strongly identifies.  We no longer prejudge welfare recipients as people “who are abusing the system”; rather, we view them as fellow members of the human race.  As folk who submit to the Lordship of Christ, we no longer begrudge our monetary gifts to mission work.  Rather, we gladly and joyfully give our money, our time and our talents for the sake of Christ’s kingdom. 

          Because such a life of service is viewed by the secular world as alien and counter-cultural, it is sometimes risky.  Because it often challenges long-held views and deeply rooted paradigms, Christian discipleship can be precarious. 

          During World War II, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was perhaps the best known German Christian who voiced opposition to the rule of Hitler. But, there were many other German Christians, not as well known but who were just as committed to the reign of Christ.  Helmuth James was a young lawyer who used his contacts to smuggle Jews out of Germany and to pass on intelligence to the Allies.  Finally placed in detention at the beginning of 1944, he was brought to trial and was sentenced to death.  The judge told him that Nazis and Christians had one thing in common, both demanded “the whole man”.  On that point, the young lawyer and the judge agreed.  In his last letter to his wife, Helmuth James wrote that he stood before that judge “not as a Protestant, not as a big landowner, not as a nobleman, not as a German, but as a Christian and nothing else.”[1]

          It’s the risks, the difficult decisions of the human heart and the sacrifices that make Christian discipleship not very easy.         Fred Craddock, Professor emeritus at Candler School of Theology in Atlanta, tells a story from his early ministry:

          He tells about going back home to west Tennessee where a buddy from high school owned a restaurant.  Buck was the name of the friend.   “Merry Christmas, Buck” and I’d get a piece of chess pie and a cup of coffee free”, Craddock writes.  “Merry Christmas, Buck”.  Every year it was the same.

          I went in, “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

          He said, “Let’s go for coffee.”

          I said, “What’s the matter?  Isn’t this the restaurant?”

          He said, “I don’t know.  Sometimes I wonder.”

          We went for coffee.  We sat there and pretty soon he said, “Did you see the curtain?”

          I said, “Buck, I saw the curtain.  I always see the curtain.”

          What he went by curtain is this: They have a number of buildings in that little town; they’re called shotgun buildings.  They’re long buildings and have two entrances, front and back.  One’s off the street, and one’s off the alley, with a curtain and the kitchen in the middle.  His restaurant is in one of those.  If you’re white, you come off the street; if you’re black, you come off the alley.

          He said,  “Did you see the curtain?”

          I said, “I saw the curtain.”

          He said, “The curtain has to come down.”

          I said, “Good, bring it down.”

          He said, “That’s easy for you to say.  Come in here from out of state and tell me how to run my business.”

          I said, “Okay, leave it up.”

          He said, “I can’t leave it up.”

          I said, “Well, then take it down.”

          “I can’t take it down.”  By now, Buck is in terrible shape.  After a while he said, “If I take that curtain down, I lose a lot of my customers.  If I leave that curtain up, I lose my soul.”[2]

          It’s the risks, the difficult decisions of the human heart; it’s the sacrifices that make Christian discipleship not very easy.

          Jesus Christ is King of kings and Lord of lords.  The question is: Is he King and Lord of your life.  Let us submit our lives to his reign and experience all the challenges, responsibilities and joy of his Kingdom of justice, peace and love.    

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Dunn, North Carolina  28334-3241

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