A Different Kind of King

The late French mystic, Simone Weil, once observed that, “grace fills empty spaces, but it can only enter where there is a void to receive it…” Bono, the lead singer of the Irish rock band, U2, said that,“grace finds beauty in ugly things and travels outside of karma.” And Jesus, according to Eugene Peterson’s retelling of the text, said that if you are depleted and alone – tired, run down and burned out on religion – he would fill your emptiness with God’s love so that you might live in the unforced rhythms of grace.

There is, it would seem, a connection between God’s grace and our emptiness. This is one of the counter-cultural trutths of the whole church calendar: from Advent and Christmas through Lent, Easter and Pentecost there is a proclamation that grace comes to us in the form of Jesus not only to fill what is empty, alone and wounded, but to actively seek out and strengthen those people and places where this void causes the most oppression. Anthony Bartlett writes in Cross Purposes: Challenging the Violent Grammar of Christian Atonement:

"(The challenge for us is) to change the governing metaphor of theology from height to depth. God enters the depth of our situation, deeper than we can imagine, deeper than we want, deep enough to change it beyond our imagining. That is why (God) is not understood or seen only by his back parts as Luther had it; not because of an impossible transcendence, less still because of an incandescent wrath, but because (God) is facing into a depth we turn from, a world-and-humanity-changing depth of love… If Christians were ready to dwell as Jesus did in the Hebrew depths of our world, rather than always planning their Greek exit strategy (by good works, private salvation, Armageddon) faith would look extremely different. Depths or the abyss are not just a convenient metaphor to return us to history… they change the very constitution of the self and world and God in relation to these. It is the work of creation at its seventh day climax. As Jesus said one Sabbath day: "My Father is still working and so am I …."

In other words, Jesus is a king with a crown of thorns: the Lord of compassion not conquest. And people all over the world – including those in the Church – are uncomfortable with this kind of king. To speak of the Word of God become flesh as grace entering the void means… we have to own our wounds – acknowledge our brokenness – accept the empty places within and among us.

Professor James Cone of Union Theological Seminary in New York City made this clear recently in his conversation concerning the Cross and the lynching tree at Harvard: until we can name and own our wounds about racism, he observed, they will continue to haunt and exert an unholy power over us time and again. And if any should think he exaggerates recall the recent rash of empty nooses left on the desks and doors of prominent African American leaders – or the twisted rhetoric about Barack Obama’s “blackness” – or the scandalous behavior of the Clintons in South Carolina re: race - and it will become only too clear that while grace fills the empty spaces with God’s liberating love, it can only enter where there is a void to receive it.

Which brings me back to the question: what kind of King is Christ? Now Americans don’t know much about royalty – and we have an almost pathological commitment to social amnesia and political naiveté – so some have urged us to start speaking of the culture of Christ rather than his kingdom. What kind of culture resonates with God’s grace and honesty? What values deepen our ability to live into Christ’s sacrificial love? What context promotes and even encourages us to live into the unforced rhythms of grace? Do you appreciate how this change from kingdom to culture clarifies the challenge?

To speak of a culture of Christ gives us the chance to compare the world as it is with the world as it could be, yes? It gives us the tools to see how we tend to create God in our image rather than risk ripening into the unforced rhythms of grace. And it invites each and all of us – personally and politically – to wonder what gets in the way of embracing Christ’s beloved community of social justice, racial and sexual equality and risk taking for love. You see, people like life to be clean: we want our emotions tidy, our religion structured, our civil society to play by the rules and everything that is messy and broken to be kept well out of sight.

I’m reminded of the story of the old Southern Pentecostal woman who happened to wander into one of our traditional, tall steeple Congregational churches in Boston: as the organ prelude began to swell, she started swaying rhythmically to the sounds of the music. During the first hymn, she held up her hand and sometimes flapped her hanky in joy. And when the preacher started his sermon, she just joined right in shouting: Amen, preach it brother or sometimes help him, Holy Spirit. Which, as you might imagine, was the final straw for the head usher who rushed over to the woman and said, “Madam, what in God’s name are you doing?” Without missing a beat, she said, “I’m just getting religion, brother.” To which the usher snorted, “Well, my dear, please, don’t get it here!”

Americans ache for the illusion of order and innocence – we hunger for life to be clean and tidy – which is why that damned Church calendar is so important; it rubs our nose in the fact that whether we want some messy, Jesus inspired grace and mystery or not, at least ONCE a year we are going to have to consider what kind of king and culture this Christ calls for!

So let me frame the challenge by reminding you of how Jesus responded to two very different people in their time of need: the rich young ruler of Luke 18 and the thief next to him on the cross in Luke 23. Let me summarize the biblical stories before teasing out a few observations about grace, emptiness and the counter-cultural kingdom of God because they have profound implications for our ministry together. First, in the story of the rich, young ruler we are told that while Jesus was teaching an influential young stock broker – or maybe it was a lawyer or even a rock star – came to him and asked, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Which is not a question about how do I get into heaven – although it has often been talked about in such manner – but an inquiry into that which gives life meaning? Ok? He is not talking about life after death but life in all of its blessed fullness before death, right?

After Jesus asks if the young man follows the rules – do you cheat on your wife, pay your taxes fairly, do your fair share with the United Way – he says: “There is still one thing lacking; you must sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor and follow me… then you will have a life of meaning” And those who know how the story ends recall that the young lawyer or stock broker or rock star just shakes his head in sadness and leaves because he was very rich.

Now be clear: Jesus is NOT telling us that money is bad nor is he teaching that we must all give away everything we own and become itinerant street ministers in order to inherit eternal life. Jesus didn’t ask Zacchaeus to give away his fortune, right? What is at stake here is control: are we ready to let God into the void of our souls and existence, or, do we want to keep trying to do it ourselves? If we choose to act like God, then our emptiness will remain. Period. End of story. If, however, to use the words of Reinhold Niebuhr we let God into the void then we will be given the “grace to accept with serenity the things in life that cannot be changed, the courage to change the things that must be changed and the wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.”

Story number one suggests that as long as we resist, fight, challenge or question God’s desire to enter the void by living like we’ve got it all together, meaning and joy will elude us. Story number two, while very different, proposes that when we allow God into our hearts to fill the void we entertain the very promise of Paradise. The story of the thief on the cross is simple but profound: Jesus has been executed as a common criminal. On either side of him are two revolutionaries who had robbed a local Roman garrison of weapons in the hopes of starting an insurrection. They have been crucified. They are baking in the sun and suffocating to death when one of the criminals taunts Jesus saying, “What kind of Messiah are you who can’t save himself in this horrible mess? You claimed to save others, do something, you idiot!” The soldiers also mocked and poked Jesus to increase his pain and shame. The other thief, however, said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” To which Jesus replied, “I tell you truly: today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Very different stories with very different results, yes? And the fundamental distinction is that one soul refused to acknowledge his wound and emptiness while the other owned it boldly. So one went away dejected, sad and perplexed about what brings meaning into life while the other was embraced by Paradise even upon on a cross. “Grace fills empty spaces, grace finds beauty in ugly things but can only enter where there is a void to receive it.”

This is counter cultural wisdom where Jesus is the king who comes down into the muck of our lives – who is not afraid of the dirt and shame of real humanity – who has no interest in punishing us for our failures – and who even brings Paradise to the cross of our broken existence. As this kind of king Jesus says we’re all in this together and I promise to be with you so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be full. "If you are tired and burned out on religion I am going to fill you with the unforced rhythms of grace. If you are alone and afraid, I am going to meet you and bring you peace." If you are wounded and oppressed, I am going to be with you every step of the way in the struggle for hope, dignity, justice and peace… and I will never, ever let you go. I am the light in the darkness and the darkness – no matter how real – cannot overcome it.

In our generation, to be disciples of Christ, this is the king and culture we must reclaim and embody: … the king who comes out of the Victorian pulpit and refuses to get trapped in the trappings of power and illusion… the king who embraces the wounded thief on the cross and tenderly but clearly corrects the rich young lawyer or rock star whenever they insist on playing God… the king who shows us his wounds – and teaches that there is wisdom in these wounds – even grace, serenity and courage if we learn the path of acceptance.

The good news is paradoxical: the blessings of grace are waiting to bring us hope, a measure of healing, community and solace once we own the wound... and many of us would rather walk away