SUNDAY NEXT BEFORE ADVENT
Jesus Deposed
Mark 15.2 Pilate asked him, "Are you
the king of the Jews?" Jesus answered, "That's what you
say!"
There
are very few kings and queens left in the world. Those who remain are
mostly figureheads. They exercise their monarchy with varying degrees of
pomp and ceremony. They open this event, launch that ship, and confer
this or that state honour.
One or two real monarchs still reign. In one
African country it is Parliament, not the king, which has only nominal power.
He takes his many wives whether or not they like being taken. He has
just appointed some of his relatives to Parliament, no doubt to ensure and
strengthen his grip on power.
But such cases are rare. They are seen
as distortions in the normal fabric of good government - aberrations
which will disappear as the natural democratic order of things inevitably spreads
worldwide.
It seems strange in such a world to be
celebrating the kingship of Jesus of Nazareth. But it hasn't always seemed
strange. Until a few centuries ago monarchy was a normal form of
government. Even when it had been stripped of its power, it retained enormous
influence. Kings and queens were honoured, respected and frequently adored
by masses of ordinary people a mere hundred years ago.
But today kings and
queens are mostly characters in fairy tales. So it is from the deep past that we now dredge up the image of kingship to apply to Jesus.
Going back to the earliest days of Christianity, all four gospels imply that even if Jesus wasn't actually a
king, he should be thought of as such.
So goes traditional teaching. And because the king image
is a quite startling
mismatch with ordinary life today, it is often attacked as redundant. This way
of understanding Jesus, say its detractors, is positively dangerous
because it is irrelevant.
Their conclusions are debatable, if only
because so many still value the image. We tend to forget that one-fifth of
the world's population still sometimes use the image when they think about Jesus the
Jewish peasant.
This debate is a tragic red herring. The real problem is not
which image, but whether or not we can change our images.
One can imagine what might happen if,
for example, the following was prayed at the Eucharist:
O eternal God, who elected Jesus
our beloved President to be Chairperson of your
heavenly Cabinet; help him to know the will of his people, and to
dutifully do what
they want. Guard him against mistakes so that he is not voted out
of office. And may the opposition never get the upper hand. Amen.
This prayer seems bizarre - but it helps
make the point that if we are to be forever chained to
ancient images, four serious problems arise:
Creativity cannot flourish in
chains. And if there ever was a time when Christian creativity was
needed, the 21st century is it.
The charisma of Jesus the man is obscured by an image almost
empty of emotive power.
In the modern mind this ancient image portrays not growth and
maturity but infantile dependence or even oppression.
If Christians use the image, they become schizophrenic,
relating to the world one way in their daily lives and in another on
Sundays.
It's hard to know what to do about the problem, however. This is
because the Church has reified many such images over the centuries. Ways
of imagining Jesus, of filling in the gaps, of giving meaning to his life have been turned into idols. Man-made pictures and symbols have
been made into absolutes. We are urged to honour,
revere and obey Jesus because he is a king - albeit of a heavenly kingdom.
We're not told, as we should be constantly, that these images are there
merely to help us. They are not in themselves anything real. Nor are they
essentially important. Far from it. They can, and sometimes must, be
discarded without a backward glance. It may be that until the Church
stops trying to preserve its heritage at all costs, it will remain as
irrelevant as the images it attempts to pass off as real.
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