No King But Caesar

John 19:12-16

March 25, 2018 (Palm Sunday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

This past fall, Rachel’s dance team was invited to dance before an Indiana Pacers game. Now, to give you an idea of how long it had been since I had been at a Pacers game, the last time I saw them play was at Market Square Arena! So one November Friday afternoon, we loaded up the car and headed to Banker’s Life Fieldhouse for the game—and more importantly, to see the Spirettes dance. They danced before the game, but we wanted to see the game. Our tickets were for seats one row from the top back wall, so it was actually hard to get into the game too much. Besides that, I was about 6 or 7 weeks post-op and got tired easily, so when Rachel suggested we leave after the third quarter, I agreed. The Pacers were way behind, and they were not going to win anyway, plus leaving early allowed us to miss the crowds. So we did that—and on the way home, we learned that somehow, the team had managed to rally and ended up winning the game. Have you ever left a game too early? Have you ever thought your team was going to lose, only to find out that something happened and they ended up winning—and you missed it? Maybe that’s even affected your NCAA bracket this year—or every year! It goes to that old saying, “It ain’t over ’til it’s over,” because sometimes the most exciting parts of the game are in the last quarter.

We’re coming down to the last quarter of John’s Gospel; in fact, the readings you will do this week are largely review, taking us back to the beginning and then walking us through Holy Week. But the important “plays” are about to happen, and many of the most fateful events take place on a single Friday afternoon in the palace of the Roman governor. Some people have described the Gospels as “extended passion narratives with a long introduction,” and John is no exception. He devotes ten of his twenty-one chapters to telling the story of Jesus’ last week—something no “normal” biography would do. But John, especially after  a lifetime of reflection on the life of Jesus, knows that this week, what we call Holy Week, is the heart and soul of our Christian faith. This is the center. It’s the key quarter. So John slows down to make sure we notice the “plays” that are taking place here, because if we’re going to know and believe in Jesus, if we’re really going to find life in his name, we have to know what this week is all about.

So, as I said, you’ll have a chance to read sort of the “best of” John this week, but this morning I want to focus on the encounter we have between Jesus and the Roman governor, Pilate. You know, Pilate very likely would have faded out of history’s notice had it not been for this one encounter. Much of what he did is either not worth remembering or was so violent that even the Roman emperor was appalled. He was not a popular politician, especially with those under his rule. Three incidents, in particular, had put Pilate at odds both with the Jewish leadership and with the Roman government, but first it’s important to remember that even then, Palestine was a hotbed assignment. It was a place full of problems, one that needed a firm and wise hand to guide it. It was the appointment even the Bishop didn’t want to go to! So for Pilate to have been made governor of Palestine means he at least had a reputation for being a strong and capable administrator. That’s why he was sent there.

Once there, he immediately made enemies among the Jewish leadership. They didn’t like him and he had no use for them. The first incident involved his visits to Jerusalem. The capital of the province wasn’t in Jerusalem; it was in Caesarea, conveniently located by the sea, but the governor would, of course, have to make regular trips to Jerusalem. When he came with his soldiers, they all carried standards that had little statues of the current emperor on top. Those images were seen by the Jewish leadership as a “graven image,” something forbidden by the Ten Commandments (cf. Exodus 20:4) since Caesar was worshipped as a god. Previous governors had deferred to the Jews and removed the statues, but Pilate refused to. At first. When the Jewish leaders followed him back to Caesarea and demanded he give in to their expectations, he surrounded them with soldiers and threatened to attack if they didn’t back off. In response, the Jews bared their necks and basically said, “Go ahead.” Pilate was beaten, because had he killed defenseless men like that, he would have had a public relations nightmare on his hands. Even then, politicians had to worry about the opinion polls. So he took down the statues.

The second incident was similar, but it had to do with water. Water is always a concern in that desert land; it is still at the root of many conflicts there today. In order to build a new aqueduct for the Jerusalem water supply, Pilate stole money from the Temple treasury. People were furious; they surged into the streets to protest. The more things change, the more they stay the same! But Pilate decided to strike this time. He hid his own disguised soldiers in the crowd of protestors, and with a signal the soldiers threw off their disguises and clubbed or stabbed the protestors to death. This did not increase his popularity rating.

The third incident was similar again, but it involved the shields that his soldiers carried, shields that had an inscription that dedicated them to the god Caesar. Soldiers in the holy city of Jerusalem were carrying weapons dedicated to a false god. So the religious leaders asked Pilate to remove them and again, he refused. This time, they went over his head and petitioned Caesar directly to remove them. Pilate was overruled and disgraced in the eyes of Caesar (cf. Barclay, The Gospel of John, Volume 2, pgs. 238-240). For many of the people in that city, especially for the leadership, it was more like “three strikes, you’re out” for Pilate.

And yet, they couldn’t do much legally without going through him. So on this day, the day they finally have the chance to get rid of Jesus of Nazareth, they bring Jesus to Pilate. Pilate knows he is walking a thin line politically, so he does everything he can to try to not get involved. He really doesn’t want anything to do with this case. When it’s apparent he has to do something, he tries to avoid giving Jesus the death penalty by having him flogged (19:1). He hopes this brutal treatment will satisfy the Jewish leaders who are calling for Jesus’ death. And make no mistake: flogging was brutal. In some ways, it may have been worse than crucifixion, to be beaten with a collection of leather straps containing bone, glass and lead balls. There was no limit to the number of times a man could be whipped in a flogging, only that the person would be beaten until the flesh was hanging from their body. Sometimes, flogging was done so that death by crucifixion would happen more quickly; shock would often set in from the blood loss and pain. Think about this, though: Pilate has already said he finds no basis for the charges they are bringing against Jesus (18:38). He believes Jesus is innocent of what they are accusing him of, and yet he allows Jesus to be flogged. He allows an innocent man to be flogged; this tells us something about the kind of man Pilate was, because he couldn’t care less about Jesus. He just wants these religious nuts to quit bothering him (cf. Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 194).

It’s after this, as Pilate once again tries to get Jesus freed, that the religious leaders bring a new charge against Jesus: he claims to be the Son of God (19:7). Now, we’re straying into political territory while not exactly leaving the religious landscape, because in the Roman world, only Caesar was “Son of God.” Ancient coins describe Caesar that way, a son of god. No wonder Pilate is afraid (19:8); this is shaping up to be every bit as much a political disaster as the previous incidents. He’s in what we call a catch-22 situation. He knows Jesus is innocent, he wants to set Jesus free, but he can see no way to do that without upsetting the frenzied crowd. And that’s when the Jewish leaders play their trump card. When Pilate says he wants to let Jesus go, they make a charge against him that goes to the heart of who Pilate is and who he wants to be: “If you let this man go, you are no friend of Caesar” (19:12).

Now, why is that such a big deal? There was a group of people—senators, knights and other powerful men—who were part of a group known as the amici Caesaris. That translates to "friends of Caesar,” and these men (they were all men) had, for one reason or another, merited the attention and the favor of the emperor. To be a “friend of Caesar” was a very desirable goal; it meant you had access to the most powerful man in the world at that time and if you wanted something done (or someone killed), you could probably get it done. Since he was an elite governor, it's very likely Pilate was a part of this group; Pilate was an amicus Caesaris, a friend of Caesar. He had power, influence and wealth because he was well connected. What the Jewish leaders are reminding him here in this statement is that if he lets Jesus go, if he sets free this man who claims to be a king, a son of God, he will without question forfeit his membership in the friends of Caesar club. They know how important this is to Pilate. That’s why, at this critical moment, they play this card: “If you let him go, you are no friend of Caesar” (19:12; cf. Card 195).

Then it gets worse. When Pilate presents Jesus—beaten, bloody, crown of thorns on his head—to the religious leaders, he takes the opportunity to mock them a bit. “Here is your king!” he says, to which they reply, “We have no king but Caesar!” (19:15). Now, think about that. These religious leaders claim to live by the first of the ten commandments: “You shall have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3). Every day, probably several times a day, they recite out loud the Shema, the most important command in all of Judaism: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one” (Deuteronomy 6:4). And they have been all over Pilate for doing things that declare allegiance to Caesar, demanding that all graven images be removed and that Pilate make sure that the nation’s first allegiance is to God and God alone, not to Caesar. But now, when it works in their favor, when it’s politically expedient, when it allows them to get what they want, they are first in line to declare their allegiance to Caesar. God is supposed to be their king. From the first stirrings of nationhood, Israel was to be a nation under divine leadership. The fact that they once had a human king was a concession God made because they complained that they wanted to be like other nations (cf. 1 Samuel 8:1-22). It was never the plan; God was supposed to be their king. So what do we now hear the religious leaders declaring? “We have no king but Caesar.” If their hearts weren’t turned against God before, they are now. How God’s heart must have broken to hear his people declare their first allegiance to another king, a merely human ruler.

I wonder, though, how often God’s heart breaks today, because sometimes we do the same thing. It’s no secret we live in an incredibly polarized political culture, but we’re not the first ones to live in that kind of a world. Last year, we celebrated the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, when Martin Luther, as author Eric Metaxas described it, “rediscovered God and changed the world.” Luther lived in a time where church and state were intimately and inseparably interconnected; you couldn’t challenge one without taking on the other. Luther had to decide where his first loyalty lay: with the church and state or with God? Luther’s famous statement at the Council of Worms tells the tale: “My conscience is captive to the Word of God. Thus I cannot and will not recant, because acting against one's conscience is neither safe nor sound. God help me.” The choice he made affected the rest of his life and changed history. The temptation exists in every generation, to proclaim our first allegiance to our country and culture, but Jesus calls us to a higher allegiance. The first Christian creed was simple to remember: “Jesus is Lord.” But those three words have radical implications. The one who is Lord has power and authority over us. In the ancient world, Caesar was Lord, but the early Christians dared to proclaim a different Lord. They recognized what we sometimes forget, that we are citizens of two kingdoms, and despite what it says on our passports, our first citizenship is not the United States of America. It’s in the kingdom of God (cf. Hamilton, John: The Gospel of Light and Life, pg. 126).

So what does that mean for our involvement in politics? Should Christians be involved in political matters? Absolutely, yes. We need people in political places who can make a difference, but it must be done with the humility and the grace that befits a follower of Jesus. Despite the example of some of our politicians, even those who claim to follow Jesus, we are unlikely to convince someone of our viewpoint by an angry public rant or argument on social media. In a congregation this size, we have all sorts of political viewpoints, and very often as individuals we become convinced that our viewpoint is the only one a “true Christian” should have. When we insist that everyone must see it “my way” or else, we are in dangerous territory. There’s a good chance we’ve got our allegiances disordered. So, yes, vote, run for office if you believe you should, speak up about political issues, but never forget that your first allegiance isn’t to the nation or to an issue. Our first allegiance is to the kingdom of God—to Jesus, not to Caesar, as king.

But politics isn’t the only arena where our allegiances get sidetracked. There are other things we might put in that sentence: “We have no king but…” What about “career”? In 1974, folk singer Harry Chapin recorded a song that put the light on especially fathers who were so busy working that they forgot about their family, and how that trait was often passed down generation after generation. The song, “Cat’s in the Cradle,” was Chapin’s only number one hit and was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2011—but has it changed the landscape any? If anything, it seems our culture has become more career or job-focused, and as more and more households have become two-income homes, often out of necessity, more is demanded of us.

Of course, “career” is often closely related to another thing we like to make our king, and that’s money. I’ve known several people throughout the years who have lived constantly desiring more and more of the green stuff. Whatever they had was never enough. I remember asking one man how much would be enough. He knew he was working long hours and giving himself more and more to his job, but his reasoning was (as it is for many people, so much so that it’s almost cliche) he was providing for his family. Meanwhile, his marriage was in trouble because he was never present. So I asked him, “How much will be enough?” He didn’t know; it was always just a little bit more. In America today, “We have no king but money.” We want it, we’ve got to have it, and we never have enough of it. One financial analyst says we will never have enough money, especially if we think of it as the means to an end, if we think of it as the goal of our life. We might put it this way: if we make money our king, we will never make enough. If we look for happiness in cash or in things we can buy with cash, we will never have enough and this king will always rule over us with an iron grip. Besides, this analyst points out, there are seven billion people on planet Earth vying to be number one, so the odds literally are seven billion to one that you or I will ever be on top. We were not made to worship at the altar of money.

One other contender for king we might consider, and that’s the double punch of power and status. Social media, of course, has changed the whole meaning of “status” or power, or has it? It seems that there are two types of people online: those whose lives are perfect and those who have all the answers. I’m not going to ask which kind you are if you don’t ask which kind I am! More and more, the main question we want answered when we go online is this: is my life as good as my friend’s? Now, you and I both know that no one’s life is as perfect as we like to make it seem, but that doesn’t change the fact that seeing someone else’s “perfect life” causes us to want to be better than them. Social media can even cause us to commit several of the so-called seven deadly sins. We envy that other person’s life, the recipes they post cause gluttony, the things they buy causes greed…I could go on through lust, pride, sloth, and wrath, but you get the idea. “We have no king but status and power.”

Now, we could go on because there are other kingdoms and other Lords vying for our attention, but here’s the bottom line: what is the trial you face, right now, today? What is the thing that is “king” in your life? You might not say it as blatantly as the religious leaders did, but what would you, honestly, finish this sentence with: “We have no king but…”? You know, in a very real sense, the trial we find in John 19 isn’t really about Jesus. Oh, it is, in the sense that the outcome will decide his fate, but Jesus points out that Pilate has no real power here. When Pilate says he could kill him or free him, Jesus replies, “You would have no power over me if it were not given to you from above” (19:11). No, in reality it’s more Pilate who is on trial here than it is Jesus. And it’s the religious leaders who are on trial here more than Jesus. Right in front of them stands the way, the truth and the life. Right in front of them stands the one who came to save them, who came to save us all. What will they do with him? How will they respond to him? Pilate, fearing losing his position with Caesar, condemns Jesus to death (cf. Hamilton 127). And, as we will see as we go through this coming Holy Week, Jesus goes there willingly, giving his life for the sake of the world. He is enthroned on a cross and dies so that we can live forever.

In Matthew’s Gospel, Pilate’s wife sends him a message before he pronounces sentence on Jesus. She begs him to have nothing to do with Jesus, to let him go, because she had a bad dream that focused on Jesus. But Pilate is too far gone. He has to protect himself and the only way he can do that is by swearing his allegiance to Caesar. Matthew also tells us that, to try to rid himself of guilt, Pilate has a bowl of water brought out and he washes his hands, telling the crowd, “I am innocent of this man’s blood” (Matthew 27:19-26). There was a legend that grew up from this story, that every Good Friday, Pilate would rise from the dead and be seen constantly washing his hands, over and over again. Legend, to be sure, but it does remind us that the king we swear allegiance to affects not only our life now but our life forever.

What we do know about Pilate is this: a few years after Jesus was crucified, there was a revolt in Samaria, in the center part of the modern nation of Israel. It wasn’t a huge revolt, or all that serious, but Pilate responded with his characteristic fury and ferocity. There were many executions that took place after the revolt was over, so many that most saw it as an overreaction to a small rebellion. One who saw it that way was Caesar Tiberius. He recalled Pilate to Rome to give an explanation for his actions. However, before Pilate arrived in Rome, Tiberius died and Pilate completely disappears from history (Barclay 240). We have no record that he ever stood judgment, though he may have. But one story that was spread is that, on that trip back toward Rome, Pilate killed himself rather than face the wrath of the emperor. We don’t know, of course, and I can’t help but wonder how many times he ran over the encounter he had with Jesus in his mind and heart. How often did he hear the cries of the religious leaders, “We have no king but Caesar”? How often did he think of Jesus when he went to wash his hands? Did Pilate ever wish he had made a different choice and chosen a different king, a better friend?

The good news is that, for all of us here who have gotten to know Jesus better as we’ve walked through this Gospel, we can make a different choice. Whatever “king” has your heart today, you can choose a new king today, in this place. You can make the choice Pilate never made, the choice the religious leaders never made. Who is your king? Who is mine? Jesus is already king of the universe, but he wants to be king of your life as well. Will you let him in? Let’s pray.