Sally A Brown, Professor of Preaching Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
Congregations may be perplexed to find that this year, the gospel text for the Feast of the Reign of Christ is the scene (and soundtrack) of Jesus’ crucifixion (Luke 23:33-43). Why not the story of Jesus’ Transfiguration, where he shines with otherworldly light (Lk 9:28-36), or perhaps the astonishing scene where Jesus defies death, raising the son of a widow of Nain from his funeral bier (Lk 7:11-17)?
Instead, we hear the derisive jeers of onlookers while Jesus, impaled on the cross, bleeds out his life under a mocking inscription, “the King of the Jews [lit. Judeans].” Religious leaders scoff, “let him save himself, if he is Messiah!” Soldiers taunt, “save yourself!” One of the two criminals crucified alongside him heckles him: “If you’re who they say you are, save yourself and us!” How can a king who refuses to save even himself, to say nothing of those who follow him, be either powerful or good? Yet one onlooker does not scoff. The second criminal believes that this one named “salvation” indeed has a kingdom, one that lies beyond the reach of Rome or even death itself. So he does not scoff. Owning his guilt, the second criminal asks that Jesus remember him when he “comes into [his] kingdom” (v 42). The man dying beside Jesus trusts that while Jesus will save neither him, nor himself, from dying, Jesus has the power to save us beyond the dark doorway of death.
Luke’s crucifixion scene, which the onlookers regard as an ignominious defeat, prompts us to question our own assumptions about power. It challenges preachers to reflect on the nature of the power by which God “saves,” and challenges us to rethink with our congregations how we, witnesses to the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, express and use power in Jesus’ name.
A sermon might reflect on the fact that when the saving power of God moves in human history, it may look, for all the world, like weakness. In this scene, Jesus is derided by both the leaders of the people and bystanders, the soldiers who crucify him, and one of those crucified beside him. Jesus has not achieved for them “salvation” from Rome; therefore, he is, in their estimation, at best a “failed” king, or worse, a fraud. They cannot see that by making our death his own, Jesus breaks tyrants’ most effective tool: the threat of death. Jesus trusts that God will make his death, death’s undoing.
One might choose to focus on the way that Jesus challenges our fascination with power-as-domination. Such power employs intimidation, threatened military force, or abusive manipulation, overt or covert, to enforce policy. In our time, new strategies of domination have emerged. By manipulating the internet, one can create an artificial, but persuasive, virtual “universe” that incites in us fear of certain groups and urges us to “trust” and support powerful figures who will protect our interests. Jesus makes clear, both at his temptation in the wilderness (Lk 4) and in his Passion, that power-as-domination does not characterize the reign of God (see Lk 22:25-26). How might we lead in ways that create community, share decision-making, and protect the most vulnerable among us?
Third, a sermon might focus on Jesus’ acts of forgiveness in this scene. Forgiveness, a recurring theme throughout Luke (see 5:20; 6:37; 7:48; 11:4; 17:3-4, 36-50), is central to the two utterances of Jesus from the cross that Luke chooses to record. First, Jesus prays that God shall forgive his deluded tormentors (v 34). Second, Jesus promises the repentant criminal beside him that he shall indeed join Jesus “in paradise.” How may we receive and learn to practice Jesus’ life-renewing mercy? How might we minister in restorative ways to prisoners, even as we realize that most are indeed paying the price of serious wrongs done to others? How would it change our congregation’s life if mercy became a hallmark of our relating to one another, our communities and wider world?
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 