SERMON FOR NOVEMBER 24, 2019   CHRIST THE KING     TEXT: LUKE  23:33-43
     Karen Armstrong is a noted scholar of comparative religions and a prolific author. She has written about Islam and Buddhism as well as Christianity. Her works include such intriguing titles as: The Gospel  According  to Woman: Christianity’s Creation of the Sex War in the West,The Bible: A Biography, A History of God, and Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence. I was intrigued when I found mention in The New Yorker last week of her newest  book, The Lost Art of Scripture. The review begins, “This unusual, often dazzling, blend of theology, history, and neuroscience argues that our hyper-rational, left-brain-dominated society” has lost the ability to engage with Scripture.  Professor Armstrong argues that enacting our sacred history ritually and ethically has for centuries helped develop right brain “habits of empathy.” Simply put, for Christians, “to tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love”  opens our hearts and stirs our imaginations, so that we can see beyond ourselves and our own interests. The experience of others makes its claim upon us, and in the words of St. Paul, those who are many become one body in Christ, and individually members of one another. And so the Apostle advises them, “[L]ove one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. . . . Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. . . .  [D]o not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all” (Romans 12:9, 14-17).  Empathy — the ability to experience and understand the feelings of another.
     Today we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, and the lectionary marks it with an unusual choice of Gospel — the crucifixion of Jesus according to St. Luke. Both Matthew and Mark record that Jesus was crucified between two bandits. Matthew tells us that they taunted Jesus, just as the religious authorities witnessing his execution did. Luke identifies Jesus’ fellow sufferers more generally as criminals, and here again we find the mocking leaders: “He saved others; let him save himself if he is God’s chosen one!” The soldiers scoff at him as well, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” And one of the criminals does indeed join in their cruelty, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But then Luke’s account goes in a unique direction, for he includes a further conversation. The second criminal calls out the first for his unfeeling behavior: “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation?” He follows this with a confession: “And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Whatever dishonest acts have brought this criminal under sentence of death, he ends his life with honesty. He sees the truth about himself; he sees the truth about Jesus as well.  The inscription on his cross, “This is the King of the Jews” is intended to make a joke of the Lord. Yet the thief realizes that Jesus’ opponents have outwitted themselves and through their intended mockery have ended up proclaiming the simple truth. And so he pleads, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” This is a moment of extraordinary intimacy — a common criminal on a first-name basis with a king he has only just met in hideous circumstances. God’s chosen one, subjected to state-sanctioned public humiliation and violence, lifted up on a cross and exercising his sovereignty from this shameful height: “Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” 
     Martin Luther loved this story because it gives such a clear picture of the depth of God’s grace. The thief had neither opportunity to do good works nor time to make amends for his sins. Indeed, in his exchange with Jesus he does not even offer a full confession. Luther makes much of the fact that he gives Jesus nothing because he has nothing to give. His salvation will be wholly Jesus’ doing. This criminal is the poster boy for Luther’s insistence that salvation comes to us by Christ’s grace alone, the Lord’s healing love which we need not and cannot earn by any action on our part. When such a promise is made, “today you will be with me in Paradise,” one simply trusts and holds on to it — faith alone apart from the works of the law — because there is nothing else to do. But I beg to differ with Luther on one point. The thief does give Jesus something, not something meritorious, to use the classic theological term, not something that earns him a reward. Yet in the midst of his own anguish, he actually sees Jesus. He sees the bitter truth of Jesus’ situation and takes his part — “we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” He attends to Jesus and recognizes the unlikely king suffering beside him. He offers him empathy and trust. And Jesus responds with the same kind of insight and with kindness -- “you will be with me in Paradise.” 
     On this day we anticipate the return of the One who will come to judge both the living and the dead, the One of whom the angel Gabriel told his mother Mary, “He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end” (Luke 1:33),  It is important to remember what kind of king this Jesus is. As the author of the Book of Hebrews reminds us, he has been tested as we are (4:15). He knows our weaknesses, and he has shared the wonders of our humanity.  Empathy, the ability to experience and understand the feelings of another, is a quality both human and divine. Amen.