The crucifixion? In November? I suspect some of you thought I read the wrong Gospel. On the Sunday before Thanksgiving – when we are thinking about turkey, travel, and Christmas shopping – the Church takes us right back to Calvary. “The crucifixion? In November? I suspect Why?
Because what we see at Calvary the message of the cross is not ancient history. The violence, injustice, cruelty, and mockery in today’s gospel is still heard today – we still see them in our world, and sometimes in our own hearts. And maybe we need to hear this gospel again because the feast we celebrate – the Feast of Christ the King – reminds us that Christ’s Kingdom is not built on power or intimidation or fear, but on nonviolence, mercy, forgiveness and by a love that never strikes back.
So, what do you see as you watch Jesus on the cross? What do you feel? I will tell you what frightens me. It is not the soldiers casting lots, or the leaders scoffing, or the criminal mocking. What frightens me is how Jesus responds:
He forgives. He refuses to retaliate. He refuses to hate. He refuses to throw back insults. He absorbs violence rather than adding more to it.
That is the King we follow. And that is where the gospel starts to get very personal. Because if we claim to follow Jesus, then nonviolence is not optional. I am not talking only about wars -- most of us are not starting wars, but we all know the little everyday violences: the harsh words, the snarky comments online, the road rage, the resentments we nurse, the ways we diminish another person’s dignity – or our own.
And maybe that is where we need to start: with the violence we do to ourselves. Jesus could meet others with nonviolence because He first lived with a deep, calm, inner peace. So, let me ask you: What names do you call yourself? What regrets do you beat yourself up with? What burdens do you carry that God has long wanted to forgive? How are you hurting yourself physically, emotionally, spiritually?
Imagine if you treated yourself with unconditional love – unconditional friendliness. Imagine speaking to yourself with the same tenderness God speaks to you: “You are my beloved. I am pleased with you.” If we begin to speak to ourselves with compassion, how might that spill into how we speak to others? Jesus tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves. But if we don’t love ourselves, then our neighbor doesn’t stand a chance. The path toward a more peaceful world begins with a more peaceful heart. The way to reduce violence out there begins with reducing violence in here. I don’t know about you, but I rarely say while driving, “That precious child of God just cut me off.” I usually call them something else.
What if we start small and begin to replace our everyday ordinary acts of violence with nonviolence? Nonviolent driving, nonviolent posting on the internet, nonviolent cheers from the bleachers, nonviolent conversations.
What if nonviolence toward ourselves and one another became our vision for the future – our offering to Christ the King? What might a nonviolent neighborhood look like? A nonviolent classroom? A non-violent workplace or home? I don’t know if we can eliminate all violence from the world. But I do know this: We do not have to keep adding to it. Not when our King shows us another way. From the cross Jesus invites us into His Kingdom: not by force, but by mercy. Not by domination, but by forgiveness. Not by violence, but by love. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” May that be our prayer and our way of life.