A sermon preached at Kowloon
Union Church on Sunday 20 November 2016, the twenty-seventh Sunday
after Pentecost, by
the Rev. David Gill. The
scripture readings that day were Jeremiah 23:1-6, Colossians 1:11-20 and St Luke 23:33-43.
August 1939. Note the date
-- August 1939. Not a good month for the world.
Fascism was on the march.
Despots had ridden to power on promises to make their countries great. Voices
of hate were screaming their ugly message. Jewish people were being vilified
and persecuted. Some, attempting to escape, found themselves turned away from
other countries.
The threat of violence
loomed everywhere. In this region, the Sino-Japanese War had been raging for
years. In Europe, the lights were going out and the Second World War would
erupt within days. Most of Asia and the Pacific would be drawn in. Before the
madness ended, 60 million people – mostly civilians – would die.
Ancient demons had been let
loose. Fear was pervasive. And people felt helpless. They could see what was
happening, yet nobody seemed able to stop it. Politicians, diplomats, even the League
of Nations itself, proved powerless. It must have been like watching a train
wreck in slow motion.
No, August 1939 was not a
good month at all.
But that same month, something
almost miraculous happened too. Something unprecedented, that was to have
far-reaching consequences.
That something was the First
World Conference of Christian Youth. One thousand five hundred young people
gathered in Amsterdam. They came from many countries, many languages, many races,
many Christian traditions, many … everything. But, with all their differences,
they were drawn together by one Christian faith. Must have looked a bit like
the congregation of KUC, on steroids!
Until the last minute,
organisers feared they might have to postpone because of world events. But the
conference went ahead, thank God. And those young people received a blessing, a
confidence, a vision, that inspired them and would serve to sustain them
through the tough years ahead.
Some would find themselves
serving in the armed forces, on one side or the other. Some wound up in Prisoner- of-war
(POW ) camps. Some became involved in resistance
movements. And at least one – Madeleine Barot, from France – became what today
we would call a people smuggler, leading Jewish asylum seekers across the
border from occupied France to neutral Switzerland.
And what was the theme of
that great youth gathering? What was the focus of bible study, thought and
prayer during those days? What was the conviction those young Christians would
take away with them into the testing times ahead? It was expressed in a Latin
phrase: Christus Victor. Christ the
Victor. Christ the conqueror of sin and death. Christ the Sovereign Lord of
All. Christ … the King.
So those young people found
themselves focused on a reality beyond the world’s madness, a sovereignty
beyond the world’s tyrannies. And they discovered they belonged to one great
family gathered by Christ the King.
At the close of the conference,
they sang an Easter hymn: Thine be the
glory, risen, conquering Son; endless is the victory, thou o’er death hast won.
A participant wrote later, “I have never heard Thine be the glory sung as it was sung that day. It was a cry Lord, have mercy. But it was also a
clear commitment to the faith that had brought us together and would hold us
together”.
Well, November 2016 is not
August 1939. There are, alas, some disconcerting similarities. But there are
many differences.
The world has changed. The
threats and opportunities we face have changed. Yet two things have not
changed. Still this is a chaotic, sometimes scary world. And still we hear the
astonishing claim that, in the words of our second reading, God “has rescued us
from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved
Son”.
Today we’ve come to the last
Sunday of the church’s year. Next Sunday the Advent wreath will come out of
storage. Christmas will be only four weeks ahead. So now we’re at the end of
Christians’ year of faith.
Through these past 52 weeks,
we’ve travelled a very long way. From the ancient yearnings of Advent to the joyful
news of Christmas, the dramatic discoveries of Epiphany, the soul-searching of
Lent, the grim realism of Holy Week, the explosive joy of Easter, the new life
of Pentecost, and onwards. So many stories, so many teachings. So many
questions, so much wondering!
Today, it all comes
together. Today we affirm the significance, for us, of the man who is at the
centre of that saga. Today, like those young people seventy-seven years ago, we
celebrate him as sovereign Lord of all. As Christ the King.
As those kids knew in 1939,
it is not an empty title, a relic of centuries past. This central claim of our
faith had far-reaching implications for them, two generations ago. It has equally
far-reaching implications for us, today.
The claim that Christ is
King liberates us, as it did them, from captivity to an unbearable status quo. It
tells us, as it told them, that no earthly tyrant has final authority. It opens
our eyes, like theirs, to a reality the world cannot see. It opens our hearts,
like theirs, to a hope the world cannot imagine. And it sets our feet, like
theirs, marching to the beat of a drum the world cannot hear.
But wait. What kind of king
is he?
Here things get complicated.
We’re talking about a man who was born in poverty, who was an asylum seeker in
infancy, who was condemned as a subversive, ridiculed as a fool, executed as a
criminal, accompanied in death by two thieves. A strange kind of king indeed. A
different kind of king, for sure.
Jesus of Nazareth was not
leading an armed insurrection. He was not competing directly with the power
brokers of his time. Yet he was not crucified just for uttering pious platitudes.
Something about that man shook the existing order to its foundations.
The divine love he embodied
challenged the status quo of his day. The cross on which he died, the cross at
the centre of this church, still challenges the status quo of ours.
That cross speaks louder
than all the voices of hate, all the cries of despair. For it speaks of something
stronger than hate, stronger than death itself. It speaks of an all-inclusive
compassion, a divine love which has no limits, no conditions, no exceptions.
Today’s gospel referred to
the two criminals who were Jesus’ companions in death. Some years ago, at an
Assembly of the Christian Conference of Asia, one of the young stewards from
Sri Lanka was getting around wearing not one cross but two. Why, I asked him?
Surely one cross is enough. Why the double crosses? “I wear these for the two
criminals who were crucified with Jesus,” he told me. “I can really identify
with those guys!”
As can we all.
Christ’s compassion reached
out to the penitent thief. In the same way, it reaches out to you, to me, to
all the people of this city, this world.
Still it breaks down the
walls people build to insulate themselves from each other, to exercise power
over each other, to excuse themselves from caring about each other. Still it stands
in judgement over the identities – of race, gender, culture, even religion – to
which we give our loyalty and which all too often we treat as gods.
Christ the compassionate
King gives himself in love for others, all
others, whether they know it or not, whether they care about it or not,
whether they respond to it or not. We who acknowledge the reign of Christ are
called to do the same – give ourselves in costly love for others. In the world
at large and wherever we may be.
Including right here in Hong
Kong.
Remember the days of SARS in
this city? It was a strange time. We were all getting around in those masks;
pressing lift buttons with elbows instead of fingers; making lots of room for
each other on the MTR; passing the peace in KUC with a bow instead of with a
handshake.
It was a scary time. I
remember watching a TV interview with a young medical doctor who had worked in
the SARS wards of one of our hospitals. What baffled the interviewer was, the
doctor had actually asked to be sent to
the SARS wards. Why, he wanted to know? You knew you were risking your life.
Why did you ask for such a posting?
Her reply was riveting.
“Because,” she said, “I think that’s where Jesus would be”.
Christ the King. Not a ruler
remote from human suffering, but a man who is immersed in it. Not a dictator who
treats us as doormats, but a companion who calls us his friends. Not a solo
actor, but a team player who draws us into the action too. A servant
leader, who has himself paid the price of self-giving love, and invites us all to
sign up for God’s great revolution of inclusive compassion and amazing grace.
There’s the kind of
patriotism every one of us can support. The kind of revolution in which each every
one of us – even you, even me – can find a place.
Thanks be to God.
# posted by Kowloon Union Church : Sunday, November 20, 2016
