Christ the King / Reign of Christ C
Proper 29C / Ordinary 34C / Pentecost +24
Texts: Luke 23:33-43, Colossians 1:11-20
Warning: this sermon contains Game of Thrones spoilers.
Power can be intoxicating: that feeling of knowing we can get what we want when we want it; the exhilaration of having others look up to you with either admiration or respect or even fear.
Some people say that power corrupts. That, the more power a person has, the more likely they are to use that power to lord it over someone else, to acquire even more for themselves and to believe that they are above the law. Others say that power simply makes us more of who we already are. If we are greedy and unethical, power gives us more opportunities to be greedy and unethical. If we are generous and just, power gives us even more opportunities to be generous and just.
In the scene from today’s gospel of Luke, there is a display of power discrepancy. While Jesus was once enough of a threat that leaders wanted him dead, now all power seemed to rest at the hands of the rulers and soldiers. They used their power in that moment not to show compassion or mercy or to uphold the dignity of Jesus. Instead, they used it to exercise dominion over him through violence, to mock him, and make it even clearer that they had power and he had none.
The hugely popular HBO series “The Game of Thrones” depicts powerful people fighting for the Iron Throne, or to rule over the seven kingdoms. As you can imagine if you haven’t watched the series, there is plenty of intrigue, betrayal, battles and violence as people try to secure the throne for themselves or someone they are associated with. Queen Cersei, who sits on the Iron Throne for some time, explains it this way: “When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.”
The rulers, the soldiers, the people, even the criminal who was crucified beside Jesus, were all playing the game of thrones; the game of winners and losers; the game of vying to achieve power and secure it at any cost. The powerful didn’t want their power disrupted. Now, at the sight of Jesus hanging on the cross, those around him felt as though they had played their game just right: they had won, he had lost.
This was the moment when Jesus’ character and teachings were tested to the max. Throughout his whole ministry, Jesus preached peace, forgiveness, love for one’s enemies, and God’s generous welcome to all. Never before, though, was Jesus so tested on what he preached and believed. It seems everything he preached about collided in that one moment: would he choose peace or violence? Forgiveness or revenge? Love or hatred? Grace or condemnation?
Throughout the Game of Thrones series, Daenerys, aka Mother of Dragons — one of the main characters — believed herself to be the true heir of the Iron Throne. She had power too, from her dragons and her ability to withstand fire. But she didn’t want to rule by fear or violence. She wanted to rule with the love and respect of the people. So she declared herself Breaker of Chains. She set prisoners free and allowed people to have a choice. She showed compassion and challenged injustice. And people loved her: they were in awe of her, were grateful to her and believed in her as the rightful queen. She was on her way to sitting on the Iron Throne.
Then, things started to change. Someone else had a claim to the throne, a stronger claim than hers. And the people seemed to love and respect him more than her. Daenerys started losing her power. She still wanted to rule by love, but she could see that wasn’t happening for her any more. So Daenerys made a decision: “Let it be fear”. She went on to burn an entire city, shocking everyone around her. It seemed to go against everything she had done or said in the past. However, Daenerys was playing the game of thrones. She saw no other way to win. And so she abandoned her rule of love and decided to rule by any means necessary.
When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground. To the eyes of the world, Jesus played the game of thrones and lost because he died.
In this scene in the gospel, everyone around him says: “if you are the king of the Jews, God’s chosen one, the Messiah, then save yourself”: the priests, the soldiers, even the man on the cross beside Jesus. The implication is that if he could he would. If he doesn’t it must be because he can’t, and so he must not be king after all. According to the rules of the game of thrones, to win he would have to exert dominion at the expense of others, through whatever means necessary. He perhaps would need to abandon his kingdom of love. That would have been the only way to win.
But Jesus isn’t playing the game of thrones. Yes, there is power discrepancy at work here. But the irony is that things aren’t as they seem. Those who believe they hold the power over Jesus do not realize that Jesus is, as the apostle Paul describes, the image of the living God, one in whom the fullness of God dwells. Here was someone who had more power than they could even imagine. Jesus holds all the power, not only over them but over all of creation and the cosmos.
He looks at his enemies, those who mocked him and beat him and condemned him to death for their own purposes, and he says a prayer of forgiveness. He looks at the criminal condemned beside him, someone who deserved his own condemnation, and in what was Jesus’ darkest hour of suffering he has compassion and welcomes the man into the kingdom: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Jesus wasn’t a victim at the cross. He says in the gospel of John, “no one takes my life from me; I lay it down willingly, on my own accord.” Jesus didn’t lose the game of thrones at the cross. He showed us what real power — not just finite, human power, but infinite, divine power — actually does. Power forgives. Power spreads peace. Power embraces in grace and compassion.
As a church, we may be tempted to play the game of thrones.
Like Daenerys, we may sometimes start out wanting to do good in the world, and believe that we know exactly what needs to be done, or more specifically, what other people need to do. Like Daenerys, we want justice in the world ruled by love and freedom. And like Daenerys, we trust that if we are nice people, we can get it done.
In her book “Nice: Why we love to be liked and how God calls us to more”, Sharon Hodde Miller talks about how niceness has become a false idol for the church. She explains that the people of God have always had a back-up plan. For the ancient Israelites, the back-up plan consisted of other gods of fertility and harvest and so on. At the slightest sign that God might not come through, they would run to these other gods. The irony, she says, is that people actually trusted the back-up plan more than they trusted God. It’s what they actually depended on when times got tough.
For us today, Miller says, the idol might be niceness. We say we believe in following the ways of Jesus, but in reality we believe we can change the world by being nice. At first, people may respond. They may love us and look up to us for the things that we do. But eventually, as Daenerys found out, they will fail us. They will not respond in the ways we think they need or should. They may cease to love us. There may be betrayals.
It is at this time that, like Daenerys, we may become cynical. We may continue to be nice on the outside, but inside we are simmering with cynical thoughts about people such as, “People are the worst; they will never change” or, as Daenerys said, “They don’t know what’s good for them so they shouldn’t get to decide.” It’s at this time that we are tempted to abandon our idealism of winning over the world with niceness. If we continue to trust ourselves to be the ones to change the world, then Daenerys’ choice might seem logical: burn them all.
But there is another way. The way of Jesus. Not being nice and manipulating people into loving us. Not using violence and dominance and forcing people to see things our way. Not being passive and believing there’s nothing we can do to effect change. Not powerlessness, but a willing sacrifice that is born from power and love. As Miller says, “When Jesus said that everyone will know us by our love, he did not mean our niceness. What made Jesus’ love Jesus’ love was not his chipper attitude or his unwavering cheer. What made his love his love was his sacrifice. And that is how people will know our love (p.77-78).”
When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. But even if you win, by niceness of by violence, it is only a matter of time until someone stabs you in the heart.
When we say Jesus is King of Kings, we are saying that a game of winners and losers has no place in the kingdom of God.
When we say Jesus is King of Kings, we are saying that violence and revenge have no place in the kingdom of God.
When we say Jesus is King of Kings, we are saying that a power that demeans and mocks and takes away one’s dignity and humanity has no place in the kingdom of God.
When we say Jesus is King of Kings, we are saying that no other king, and no amount of games or intrigue or battles or violence can ever take his place. He can never be dethroned because he alone is before all things.
When we say Jesus is King of Kings, we are saying our allegiance lies with the One who holds the real power. The One whose power is beyond life and death. To serve Jesus as our King of Kings means to forgive and to embrace, in our power and in our suffering. May we show ourselves faithful to the ways of our King.