A number of years ago, my wife and I were in Europe visiting a number of places we had always intended to see. One of those was Auschwitz, the death camp in Poland, permanently kept as a reminder of the horrors of the holocaust during World War II. Perhaps some of you have visited, but on the day that we went the sun was shining warmly, not a cloud in the sky. And there were all sorts of people filling the parking lot, the buses arriving every few minutes and even some on bicycles making their way to this monument, if you will, set aside as a reminder. And so we joined the queues and waited for the time of our tour. As soon as we went in, it felt like enormous darkness suddenly surrounded us. It is hard to describe but a heavy darkness that you almost wanted to try to brush off your hair, your skin, your shoes. A heaviness that seemed to hold something dark and powerful. I am not sure I have felt it anywhere before. A silence seemed to descend as we went through the gates. Birdsong was nowhere to be heard, people spoke in hushed tones, the busyness of the world all around seemed to have stopped as a deep quiet filled the place. No one wanted to speak. There was much to take in: the history of the place, the number of people who had been murdered there, the number of gas chambers, the piles of suitcases that had been carried in but never carried out. One display we saw was filled with hundreds of eye-glasses piled up because they were longer of any use. I will never forget the faces of so many prisoners now displayed on the walls, faces filled with fear, starvation, hope snuffed out. But the silence pervaded everything, no words could speak into it. A silence that gripped all those who came near, for what could be said?
This silence is the same silence that I imagine came to the world immediately after the scene we heard described in the gospel reading for today. The story of the crucifixion is usually heard on Good Friday but we heard it this morning in this different context. And those of us here this morning know that soon after Jesus tells the two criminals who are crucified along with him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise,” immediately after, the skies darken, the curtain in the temple is torn in two and Jesus cries out, “Father into your hands I commend my spirit.” With those words, I imagine again a deep silence entered the world. For it appeared that God, the Word of God, the light of God, the Son of God, the lamb of God has been killed and all hope has been lost. All hope, it seemed had come crashing down. God was no more, the Word of God has spoken its last, the light of God had been overcome. So it seemed. But we have peeked ahead, and we know that this Word of God cannot be broken, that the light of God can never be extinguished, that the love of God cannot ever end. Ever. We know that… but it is only in this silence that we discover it. This day in the Church’s calendar is about paying attention to that silence and waiting for the Word of God to once again be heard, in our lives and in our living.
We call this day in the Church’s calendar, Reign of Christ Sunday. It is the last Sunday of the Church’s liturgical year. Next Sunday, will begin the new year of the Church with the first Sunday of Advent. The Advent carols will be heard, the first candle of the Advent wreath will be lit, the first door of an Advent calendar will be opened as we prepare to celebrate the birth of Christ.
But today… is almost a summary of all that it is that we believe about Jesus as the Word of God that speaks into this world, even this world of today. For he is a monarch but of a kingdom of heaven, a kingdom where servanthood, the poor in spirit and the peacemakers are all seen as blessed. A kingdom not of crown jewels but of a cross and resurrection, of grace and love, of baptism and Communion.
Reign of Christ Sunday points out to us very clearly that the politics and governments of this world vary quite enormously from God’s hope and prayer for us. The Reign of Christ speaks not of power in the sense of earthly power but of the power of God in and through all things, it is about coming to see as we heard in Jeremiah that “the Lord is our righteousness.” And this is radically different from the political stories on the news at the moment. For recognizing Christ as our monarch is not about the politics of the budget of the government of Canada or tariffs or the inaction of politicians regarding the climate emergency or reconciliation in this country. To call the Reign of Christ to be about a kingdom is almost a joke because it looks nothing like the kingdoms, governments or structures of this planet. And perhaps that is the point on this Reign of Christ Sunday. For it is a kingdom based on hearing God’s Word even in the darkest of places, the deepest of grief, the depths of despair and hopelessness… for in the silence we discover a relationship that God is desperate to have with us. A relationship not of power or might or control or violence… but a relationship of the most vital connection possible… with our soul. A relationship that urges us to love in response, and to seek justice and righteousness in this world. A relationship that calls us to be a changed people who know about being forgiven our trespasses and realizing that we now must forgive the trespasses of others. It is a relationship that transforms us away from only thinking about ourselves but God’s hope and God’s peace.
In the letter to the Colossians we heard it phrased this way: “God has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”
In the first chapter of the gospel of John it was phrased in this way: the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.”
Elsewhere in the gospel of John we hear: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…”
And so this Jesus came. A king if you will but a king radically different than we might imagine a king to be. He entered the human race not to crush us but to show that love conquers hate, compassion destroys violence, light wins out over darkness, life triumphs over death.
For that king we call Jesus said things like: Blessed are the meek… blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. He said: You are the light of the world. He said Father forgive them. He said do to others as you would have them do to you. He knew that the one who was a neighbour to the other was the one who showed mercy.
And for this he was killed.
So who is Jesus for you? If you were stopped on the street and asked this question, how might you respond? Marcus Borg described Jesus in this way: “As an epiphany of God, Jesus discloses that at the centre of everything is a reality that is in love with us and wills our well-being, both as individuals and as individuals within society.”[1]
Max Lucado described Jesus this way: “The world has never known a heart so pure, a character so flawless. His spiritual hearing was so keen he never missed a heavenly whisper. His mercy so abundant he never missed a chance to forgive. No lie left his lips, no distraction marred his vision. He touched when others recoiled. He endured when others quit. Jesus is the ultimate model for every person.”
How do you understand this Jesus of Nazareth, this king, this monarch, this light, this word, this messiah, this Son of God? He was different, far different than any emperor, politician or leader that we might know in this world. For his kingdom was the kingdom of heaven one that links this world with the next, one that guides us to do what we are ultimately called to do, one that was built on love and forgiveness, one that knew light and life. One that breaks into even the silence of Auschwitz or any other place where the darkness is palpable. One that calls us to be bearers of that same light. One that touches our very soul in this life and in all life. This is where Christ reigns.
[1] Marcus Borg in Jesus: A New Vision page 192