Power and Mercy: SALT's Commentary for Reign of Christ/Christ the King Sunday
Reign of Christ the King Sunday (Year C): Luke 23:33-43
Big Picture:
1) This week is Christ the King (or Reign of Christ) Sunday, which concludes “Year C” of the Revised Common Lectionary. Next week, “Year A” begins with the Advent season and the first step of a year-long pilgrimage through the Gospel of Matthew.
2) This is one of the rare times in the year when Christianity’s two major feasts — Easter and Christmas, Cross and Incarnation — come into close connection. The one condemned before crowds in Jerusalem is the same one born in a forgotten, backwater town. The one hailed by angels, shepherds, and philosophers from afar is the same one eventually betrayed, abandoned, and left to die in shame. “Silent Night” and “What Wondrous Love is This?” overlap and interweave, together creating another kind of song entirely.
3) And this juxtaposition, this creative tension, is precisely the point. To paraphrase the great womanist theologian Delores Williams, the “kingship” of Christ can only be understood through this dissonance and harmony: “King of Kings!” on the one hand, as if sung by a resplendent choir; and “poor little Mary’s boy” on the other, as if whispered by an elderly woman standing alone. Or again, “Reign of Christ” on the one hand, and God’s child, exquisitely vulnerable, on the other. These two songs, Williams contends, sung back and forth in call and response, is “the Black church doing theology.” Each song needs the other for the truth to shine through.
4) As we’ve seen all year, a central idea in Luke, echoed in this week’s reading, is that Jesus’ mission is to declare the dawn of the Great Jubilee: a new era, rooted in ancient Israelite history and lore, of “release to the captives” and “liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants” (Luke 4:18-19; Isa 61:1-4; Leviticus 25:8-12).
5) Likewise, for Luke, the heart of Jesus’ ministry is mercy — and while he does come to declare the nearness of God’s kingdom and the inauguration of God’s reign, the “kingdom” he has in mind is one of servanthood (“But I am among you as one who serves” (Luke 22:26-27)), the “reign” he has in mind is one of mercy (“Be merciful, just as God is merciful” (Luke 6:36)), and the key action he has in mind, the essence of loving your neighbor, is to “show mercy” (Luke 10:36-37).
Scripture:
1) We begin with a stark portrait of kingship: the reign of Caesar, we might say, and with it, the reign of every tyrant before and since. In first-century Palestine, crucifixion was a common Roman method of execution meant to humiliate the condemned, intimidate the populace, and thereby project imperial power. For a Jew in Jerusalem, a more terrifying, disgraceful death could scarcely be imagined, “hung on a tree...under God’s curse” (Deut 21:23). Forsaken by his friends, Jesus is now mocked by his enemies: first the “leaders” from afar, then the “soldiers” on the scene, and finally a common criminal, himself disgraced and condemned on a cross next to his. A sarcastic sign hangs over Jesus — “This is the King of the Jews” — effectively announcing: Behold what happens to such “kings”! In a single sketch, here is the imperial kingship of Caesar, the rule of domination, cruelty, terror, and contempt.
2) But for those with eyes to see and ears to hear, at the same time the scene is also a portrait of another “kingship” entirely. Luke tells the story through ancient Israelite motifs: predators “casting lots” for clothing, challenging the persecuted to call on God for rescue, and offering “sour wine” to drink (Psalm 22:18; 22:7-8; 69:21). Likewise, in the Wisdom of Solomon, powerful opponents subject “the child of the Lord” to “insult and torture,” sneering, “Let us condemn him to a shameful death, for, according to what he says, he will be protected” (Wisdom 2:13-20). The quiet poise of Isaiah’s “suffering servant” is in the background here, too, as is Luke’s account of the devil tempting Jesus to use his power to help himself: “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread…” (Isa 53:7-9; Luke 4:3).
3) These passages don’t so much “foretell” Jesus’ suffering as illuminate the deep structures or “scripts” by which such suffering unfolds — signaling that here, too, God is present and active in and through events that seem godforsaken. This is the ironic, revolutionary logic of the Gospels. In the very place that seems godforsaken — there, precisely there, God is present and active. Where God’s reign is mocked and Caesar’s reign seems triumphant — there, precisely there, God reigns. And that imperial inscription above Jesus’ head, the one meant to taunt, intimidate, and demean — there, precisely there, God’s kingship is declared!
4) But what kind of “kingship” is this? In keeping with this Gospel irony, Christ’s “kingship” is a perfect reversal of Caesar’s: instead of domination, servanthood; instead of mockery, kindness; instead of cruelty, mercy.
5) We began with a stark portrait of Caesar’s reign — but if we look again at the same scene, on a deeper level we can discern the hidden-but-radiant portrait of Christ’s reign of mercy. His opponents mean to mock him, but they unwittingly embody the ancient tropes — and declare him “Messiah” and “King” (Luke 23:35-38). Moreover, even before his tormentors do their worst, Jesus asks God to “forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). Scholars disagree on whether this line is original to Luke or was added later, but either way, it epitomizes Jesus’ consistent emphasis on forgiveness throughout Luke’s Gospel, and resonates with subsequent episodes in the overall narrative — for example, when Stephen prays just before his own crucifixion, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them” (Acts 7:60, also written by Luke). And finally, when one of the thieves asks Jesus to “remember me when you come into your kingdom,” Jesus responds with the breathtaking words, “Today you will be with me in Paradise” (Luke 23:42-43). If in Caesar’s kingdom the gates of imperial privilege swing shut — in Christ’s, the gates of salvation swing open!
Takeaways:
1) On the eve of Advent and Christmas, the season of waiting and anticipating the coming Child of God who arrives in the most humble, vulnerable circumstances (“poor little Mary’s boy”), this week we draw the creative tension tight: the humble baby in the manger, the one with a soft spot on his head and Mary’s milk on his breath — is none other than the Almighty God (“King of Kings!”).
2) And yet this kingship is something new. Here is a “king” who explicitly disavows his “greatness” in favor of humble service: “For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves” (Luke 22:27). Here is a “king” who refuses to use his power to fend off his opponents, much less take vengeance on them — and instead does the opposite, calling on God to forgive them. Far from the model of a contemptuous tyrant, Jesus’ “kingdom” is a reign of servanthood and neighborhood, a community of love and mercy, open to all.
3) But wait a minute — doesn’t “open to all” go too far? Doesn’t Jesus say, “Today you will be with me in Paradise” only to the “good” thief, not the “bad” one? This is a classic case of how a scriptural story can lure us into unwittingly twisting it around into its contrary. By so quickly embracing a thief who’s been “condemned justly,” Jesus debunks the idea that grace is a reward for good behavior (Luke 23:41). But someone may object: Only the second thief confesses and asks Jesus to remember him; Jesus only forgives the “good” thief, not the “bad” one! But look again: immediately after the two thieves are introduced in the story, Jesus asks God to “forgive them” — meaning all of his opponents, of course, but certainly not excluding the one who’s just stepped onstage, the so-called “bad” thief (Luke 23:33-34). Understood from this angle, Jesus’ remark to the second thief — “Today you will be with me in Paradise” — is a consoling response to his direct request, but it applies no less to the first thief, who has also been forgiven. The story’s point is clear: when it comes to salvation, God’s mercy falls on the just and unjust alike, and so the very act of drawing a line between “good” and “bad” has no place in Christ’s reign of love. The Great Jubilee means declaring “liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants,” not to mention “release to the captives” (Leviticus 25:10; Luke 4:18-19).
4) The Swiss theologian Karl Barth once wrote that the church is born in this story, out there in the shadows on that desolate executioner’s hill. A meager congregation, not of the righteous, but of criminals, gathered around Jesus, listening for — and receiving! — words of forgiveness and radiant good news. Accordingly, the church is always surrounded and pervaded by Caesar’s reign, and is nevertheless called to be a glimpse, a sacrament, an experience, and above all a proclamation of Christ’s dawning reign of love. A “kingdom” not of domination, but of servanthood; not of mockery, but kindness; not of cruelty, but mercy. For the fullness of that Great Jubilee in all its beauty, the church waits, and prays, and hopes, and prepares — as the season of Advent begins.