Are you a king?

Scripture Lesson: John 18: 33-38a, NT page 113 There’s a wonderful story I once heard about a wise old Rabbi giving a sermon based on the story of Adam and Eve. Genesis chapter 3 tells of the first sin and its punishment, the story of the serpent who tempted the man and the woman to eat the forbidden fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. After they ate this forbidden fruit their eyes were opened. Opened to what we readers wonder – was it the knowledge of the world as it is, the knowledge of judging between right and wrong, or the kind of knowledge that allows us to choose obedience or disobedience – it’s not terribly clear which it is from the Biblical account, but soon after their eyes were opened “they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.” To hide is a dangerous business, but people do it often. A child runs and hides under his bed after breaking a bowl in the kitchen. A teenager lies and conceals the truth, hiding a part of himself from his parents. A grown woman lives in the shadow of denial, neither admitting to herself nor to anyone else that there is a brokenness within her that is not yet healed, though the empty wine bottles hidden away in the crawl space tell that story for her – yes to hide is a dangerous business, but people do it often, and as the Lord God walked through the garden he called out to the man, “Where are you?” which is a funny question for the Lord to ask the old Rabbi noted. “But you see,” he said, “the Lord God knew. He always knew where Adam was. But did Adam know? He was not lost to the Lord, but was Adam lost to himself?” In what is considered by some to be one of the most important philosophical works of the last quarter of a century, The Sources of the Self it’s called, Dr. Charles Taylor claims that we are always in search of ourselves, always wrestling with the question of identity. “Who am I?” we ask, “but this can’t necessarily be answered by giving name and genealogy. What does answer this question for us,” according to Dr. Taylor, “is an understanding of what is of crucial importance to us.” What was of crucial importance to Adam and Eve – we’ll the story of Genesis tells us that this shifted under the shade of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil – for while in the beginning all that mattered to the first man and the first woman was enjoying God’s creation within the limits God ordained, when tempted by the serpent it was disobeying God that was of crucial importance, and when this shift occurred Adam and Eve were lost, not to God, but to themselves. As the Lord God walked through the garden he called out to the man, “Where are you?” “But you see,” the old Rabbi said, “the Lord God knew. He always knew where Adam was. But did Adam know? He was not lost to the Lord, but was Adam lost to himself?” Benefitting again from the perspective of Dr. Taylor, “To know who I am is a species of knowing where I stand,” or to say it using the words of that great Presbyterian Preacher Dr. Peter Marshall, “if we don’t stand for something, we shall fall for anything” – and as Adam and Eve abandoned the ethic of God’s law, disobeying God’s only command, they fell so far as to lose themselves – an event which unleashed a plague on humanity that we are still fighting against some millennia later. We are still asking, “Who am I?” I believe that Dr. Taylor is correct – I know myself based on my commitments – so I know myself as a committed husband, a father, a son, a pastor, a Christian, an American – but in all of these areas, my identity is constantly threatened by the frailty of my human frame and the whisper of a serpent. Who am I? That’s no easy question to answer. It’s not set in stone or fixed in history. Identity is more like a ship pushed by the wind of experience – and to maintain a sense of who we are we must stand firm, holding close the commitments that matter most. For some people this is easier than others I’m sure. The country music legend Johnny Cash sings a song about a boy named Sue who had to fight every day of his life for his identity “Some gal would giggle and I’d get red And some guy’d laugh and I’d bust his head, I tell ya, life ain’t easy for a boy named Sue.” The same must have been true for a woman remembered by the 1880 census of our own Maury County. Bob Duncan called me over just last week to show me that there, among all the citizens of our great county, was a 35-year-old widow woman – last name Mcville, first name – Parrollee. Now a boy named Sue and a girl named Parrollee learn the same lesson – you want people to really know who you are, you have to learn to stand up for yourself, for the world asks us day and night, “Who are you?” and we answer through our commitments, our promises, the stands we are willing to take. That’s why I worry about the outcome of this Syrian refugee debate in Washington. I know that I am not as wise as any of our politicians when it comes to foreign affairs or the very real threat of terrorism, so I would never be so bold as to criticize what I know so little about, but I worry because I know that even with the red, white, and blue still flying, even with the national anthem still sung, we must still fight for our identity in an age of new challenges and new fears. Welcoming the huddled masses at our doorstep is not an act of charity, not an option only for the foolishly kind and the naïve bleeding hearts. To welcome those who long for freedom is the very definition of who we are as a country. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these the homeless, the tempest-tossed to me, I life my lamp beside the golden door.” These are the words engraved on our Statue of Liberty, embodying one of the ideals that we hold close. Closing the door, while it may be wise, while it may be prudent, while it may even be the right thing to do in this time of unprecedented terrorism and rampant immigration – still, closing the door must not be done flippantly for in doing so we may risk losing sight of who we are. In 1630, on board the ship Arbella, in rout to the Massachusetts Bay Colony, John Winthrop preached one of the most frequently quoted sermons in American history, one that has set the tone for our nation well into the 21st century. In this sermon titled, “A Model for Christian Charity,” Winthrop famously declared that, “There is a time when a Christian must sell and give to the poor, as they did in the Apostles’ times. There is a time also when Christians must give beyond their ability… Lastly, when there is no other means whereby our Christian brother may be relieved in his distress, we must help him beyond our ability rather than tempt God in putting him upon help by miraculous or extraordinary means… For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us. So that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken, and so cause him to withdraw his present help from us, we shall be made a story in a by-word through the world.” As the Lord God walked through the garden he called out to the man, “Where are you?” And he still asks us now, “Where are you?” Certainly for me, as may be true for us all, there are times, seasons even, when we are unrecognizable to ourselves – when we have lived in such a way as just to survive – we’ve lived without direction or clear priority. But our Lord is different isn’t he. He stood trial before Pilate, the governor – the man who held our Lord’s fate in his hands. In our Second Scripture Lesson – an event that ironically occurs just after Peter denied Jesus three times – as our Lord stood trial he refused to deny the truth of his identity. “Are you the king of the Jews,” Pilate asked him, and all Jesus needed to do was say “no,” but instead Jesus answered with another question, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Here we know that Pilate is not so unlike us. His ability to stand or bow depends on the swaying waves of public opinion. Jesus knows that he is not speaking for himself but on behalf of those religious elites who want to see the Lord crucified. “So you are a king,” Pilate retorts – now ready to move towards some finality – but Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” Pilate asked him, “What is truth?” The truth was sitting there in front of him, was he not? And the question could have been better phrased had Pilate asked him, “Who is truth?” The Lord embodied the truth in his every breath. He lived it in his every action. He was truth and love and hope – and when we live as he did we are so truly his disciples. When fear is no longer our God. When we stand up for what we know is right rather than let the world walk right over us. When we step out from our hiding places, as broken and ashamed as we might be – then we honor him as our Lord and King when we are bold enough to let our truth live in our actions. But – being true to who you are is a challenge. Listening to your heart, honoring your convictions - it takes courage – so do not forget who stands beside you. It is Jesus Christ, the faithful witness. The first born of the dead. The ruler of the kings of the earth. Amen.