God the Father, help us
to hear the call of Christ the King and to follow in his service, whose kingdom
has no end; for he reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, one glory.
Amen.
In Monroe, Ohio, neighbors banded together to file a
formal complaint against a man in their development who, in the middle of
September, had put up his Christmas lights. In San Antonio, Texas, a homeowners’
association forced a resident to take down the Christmas lights that were
shining brightly on November 1. Yes, we’ve all noticed that retails stores seem
to pivot to Christmas as soon as Halloween is over, and I understand that’s how
commercialism works. They’re just trying to capitalize on holiday cheer, which
might be of interest to an economist, but not as much to a theologian. Instead,
what I’m intrigued by is what we might call the “Christmas creep.”
This year, I’ve noticed several homes around Salisbury
with Christmas decorations up already, maybe you’ve seen them too. Perhaps,
even, your home is one of those that I’ve noticed. To be very clear, I don’t
have a problem with such decorations in November. Sure, it’s not quite synced
with the liturgical calendar, but you’re not going to hear me complain about
it. What interests me is why it seems that Christmas decorations are going up
earlier and earlier.
It doesn’t take a prophet to notice that there’s a lot of
darkness surrounding us. Sure, it’s dark by 5pm this time of year, but I’m
thinking more in terms of metaphorical darkness. While there is much to
celebrate in our lives, there’s also a lot of doom and gloom. I don’t think it’s
possible to overstate the environmental catastrophe that is upon this planet.
There are many worries that we might have about poverty, the economy, or health
issues. But there’s also the darkness that’s overtaken the news of late.
Regardless of what you think about it, Congress is in the midst of impeachment
hearings. Maybe you’re disturbed by one party, or the other, or the whole
situation, but there’s no denying that there is a cloud of darkness hanging
over us.
And we desperately need some hope, some optimism, some
light. Maybe it’s for religious reasons, maybe for nostalgic ones, maybe for psychological
ones, but more and more of us are turning towards lights shining in the darkness,
even if some say it’s “too early” for that. It is a good thing to be looking
for a light to warm our hearts, a light to guide us, a light to ward off the
darkness. My worry is what happens when we put our hope in the wrong places.
I’ve mentioned a book a few times this year in sermons
called Seculosity, which describes
the ways in which we are all seeking validation in what the author calls “replacement
religions.” He writes that we all want “enoughness” and we’re searching for it
everywhere – in our jobs, in our diets, in our hobbies, in our romantic relationships,
in our kids’ accomplishments. And this constant search for validation has made
us more competitive with each other, because we’re all fighting to be seen as
successful and accomplished, which is always done in comparison to others. At
one point, he writes, “If we used to go to church once a week, now we go once
an hour.” And by “church” he doesn’t mean a building like this, he means to
those places, even if just in our minds, where we try to justify ourselves and
convince ourselves that we’re “good enough.”
The truth of the matter is that none of these replacement
religions can make good on their promises. Going to the gym every day doesn’t
mean that you won’t drop dead of a heart attack. Your kids getting into Harvard
doesn’t mean that they’ll have a perfect life. Having a nice title at work
doesn’t save you from bouts of depression. No matter how many likes you get on
social media get, it doesn’t mean that you won’t hate the way you look every
time you step in front a mirror. And putting up Christmas lights in November
doesn’t do anything to combat the darkness that surrounds us.
The poet TS Eliot writes, “Half the harm that is done in
this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don’t mean to do
harm – but the harm does not interest
them. Or they do not see it, or they justify it. Because they are absorbed in the
endless struggle to think well of themselves.” That’s the problem with these
replacement religions; because they only paper over the anxiety instead of
resolving it, the anxiety is still there under the surface and it leads us to
harm those around us. Our insecurities become projections onto other people.
Our quest for justification becomes a competition. Our quest for a savior leads
us to idols.
On Christ the King Sunday, we are reminded that we don’t
need a replacement religion because we are given our enoughness instead of
having to earn it. The history of this day in the Church Year is fascinating,
it was first introduced in the 1920s as Europe was emerging from the horrors of
World War I and was searching for leaders who could lead them back to stability
and greatness. This is the era when men like Hitler and Mussolini were rising
to power. When Pope Pius XI established this feast in 1925 it was to combat
this replacement religion of the nation-state and politics. Just as it was
intended to function then, we need Christ our King to be the object of our
allegiance and the source of our hope if we want to escape the darkness.
The problem with having Christ as our King is clearly
seen in today’s Gospel text. Our supposed King was crucified, lynched, between
two other criminals outside the city walls of Jerusalem. We don’t want to be
told that the way of life is the way of the Cross. We’d prefer a conquering God
to a Crucified God. One preacher once said that what God gives us is maximum
support with minimum protection, but we’d rather have the opposite. The cross is
about humility, pain, rejection, and losing. The cross shows us the grain of
the universe, but it’s not really the direction we’d chose to go. The cross is
a revolting, confusing, frail symbol, and so instead of adopting it as our
guiding light, we look for replacement religions.
We’ve been so trained to think that anything good comes
through hard work. We tell ourselves that we are supposed to make a difference
in this world. We live to build our résumés. But our example this morning is
the opposite of that. Luke doesn’t give him a name, but tradition calls his St.
Dismas; he’s the criminal who asks Jesus to remember him when Jesus comes into
his Kingdom. Notice what Jesus does not say in response. He doesn’t say “Hey
buddy, you did the crime you do the time.” He doesn’t say, “Well, first you’ve
got to clean up your life.” He doesn’t say, “Let’s take a look at what kind of
person you were.” Jesus doesn’t ask him for references, he doesn’t ask him to
defend himself, he doesn’t ask him for anything. Instead, Jesus says, “Truly I
tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Experiencing joy requires letting go. You can’t manufacture
a sense of meaning, purpose, belonging, or happiness. Our righteousness is given
to us by God, it’s not something we earn. But if we’re constantly trying to
accomplish something or live up to crazy expectations, we’ll never be able to
receive what we’ve been given to us. Love is ours. Paradise is ours. So we can
stop trying to fight for it.
In
place of a Psalm this morning, the lectionary gives us the Song of Zechariah,
in which he says that we are freed to worship God without fear, that we are
forgiven our sins, that “The dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.” No gym membership
required, no need to have your kids make the honor roll, you don’t even need to
put up Christmas lights to have this light shine in our dark world.
But it is a question of whether or not we want to follow Christ
as our King, or if we just want to be a fan of his. If Jesus is but one part of
our search for meaning and purpose, we’re not going to find much in terms of
having our feet find the way of peace. If Christ is the King of our spiritual
lives but not all of our lives, we’re going to keep coming up empty with
replacement religions. As much as it doesn’t satisfy our ego, St. Dismas really
is our example. He’s literally at a dead end and he puts all of his eggs in the
Jesus basket. He’s given up on trying to figure this out on his own. Instead,
he just asks for mercy and that’s exactly what he gets.
I want to get specific on what this all means. It’s one
thing to talk about giving our allegiance to Jesus, or having Christ be our
king, or avoiding replacement religions, but I don’t want this to be about abstract
ideas. If Christ is our King, it means we’ve got to be obedient to him. Again, faith
isn’t about being a supporter of God, or a fan of God, or an acquaintance of
God, it’s about being a royal subject of the King of the Universe. So we’ve got
to take an honest and hard look about what that means for our lives.
If the Crucified Jesus is our King, then maybe things
like reputation, or being right, or personal preferences, or winning shouldn’t
matter so much to us. If Christ is our King, then maybe paying him tribute,
with our words, our deeds, our wallets, and our schedules is of the utmost priority.
If Christ is our King, then vulnerability is more powerful than strength. To be
very clear about this, being obedient to Christ our King by doing things like
giving money to the Church, or serving the poor, or forgiving others doesn’t
get us into Paradise, that’s already a given. We can be like St. Dismas and
live lives that lead us to being condemned as a criminal. You can be a lying, stealing,
cheating criminal and you still are covered by God’s love.
Instead, what’s before us is what Zechariah was singing
about in his Song – living without fear and walking in the way of peace. That’s
where replacement religions can’t take us. Only by embracing Christ as our King
will live lives that are resonant with the Gospel of grace. Only by serving
Christ as our King will we encounter the joy that God intends for us. Only by going
with the grain of the universe, the grain of love as revealed on the Cross,
will we find a peace that passes all understanding.
I want to leave you with a practice today – it’s called
the Jesus Prayer and it’s really simple: Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.
The first part, “Lord Jesus Christ,” is about the kingship of Jesus, he is our
Lord, our Messiah, our Savior, and we are not, nor are any other places we look
for validation. And the “have mercy on me,” puts us in line with the prayer of
St. Dismas as we put our hope, our trust, our lives in the hands of God’s
mercy. You can pray that prayer as a way of reminding us who our King is, as a
way of asking for his grace to guide and bless us, as a pledge of allegiance to
his Kingship. Repeat it to yourself as you sit in traffic, as you fall asleep,
as you feel stressed, as you feel the need to seek validation or judge yourself
harshly, or as you feel afraid, weak, or lonely. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy
on me. Amen.
