Can you recall the last time someone said or did something that you were convinced had already been said or done? Is it déjà vu? Or is it simply something from our subconscious rising to the surface? This happens to me occasionally. Sometimes, I realize that an actual event had been foreshadowed earlier in a dream. At other times, a person says something that sounds so familiar that I’m certain they must have uttered those words before. But there are also times in which a word or image will trigger a memory from long before, even though it’s seemingly obscure. The glimpse of a word or prior experience, even in a dream, might be a way for us to make sense of the story of our lives. It might be God’s way of speaking to us.
I had a déjà vu moment when reading about Jesus’s judgment before Pilate in John’s Gospel. At first, I thought contentedly, Oh, I know this scene. What new thing could I possibly discover? And then, a few words lit up for me like a light bulb, and I thought to myself, I’ve heard those words before. But where?
I wonder if they lit up for you as well. Pilate is annoyed that the chief priests and Jewish leadership have handed Jesus over to him for judgment. It’s utterly inconvenient to him, because he doesn’t want to be bothered with this itinerant Jewish preacher. He would prefer to offend no one and to wash his hands of this whole mess. He interrogates Jesus, What have you done?
Did those words light up for you, too? Where have we heard those words before? Was it from the lips of an irritated parent scolding you for making a mess in the kitchen? Was it in the exasperation of a frowning teacher who was trying to determine why other students were tattling on you? Was it in the ire of your boss attempting to pick up the pieces from a project that you totally messed up? What have you done?
I don’t know about you, but it’s very difficult for me to hear those words and not attach a tone of disapproving judgment to them. It’s hard for me not to hear an implicit answer, I’ve done wrong. The words What have you done? seem meant for judgment. Is it because we can’t escape the punitiveness and unforgiveness of the world in which we live? What have you done? Those words make me squirm and feel guilty even if I’ve done nothing wrong. So, where have we heard those words before?
Well, in the garden, of course. Adam and Eve have been told quite clearly by God that they shouldn’t eat of the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden of Eden, or they shall die. But they do it anyway. And when they do, they realize they’re naked. In a bit of sad comedy, they attempt to cover their nakedness with fig leaves, a futile project if there ever was one.
But then, they hear God walking in the garden, and they hide, for they’re ashamed. God knows that something is amiss when Adam and Eve recognize their nakedness. Then the blame game starts. Adam blames Eve. Then God asks Eve, What is this that you have done? And Eve blames the serpent.
There’s the question. That’s where we’ve heard it before. Ah ha! What have you done? Maybe we feel uncomfortable with that question because we read the story of Adam and Eve as the first example of sin. There’s no particular reason why we should assume that God’s voice carried an angry tone when he asked Eve what she’d done. But that’s what we assume, which probably says more about our image of God and about the lack of forgiveness in the Church and in our world.
But regardless of God’s tone when he asks that pointed question, it’s one that elicits embarrassed attempts to justify disobedience. God’s question is followed by Adam and Eve’s punishment and banishment from the garden. But it’s also followed by God’s tender gesture of love, when he makes clothes to cover up Adam and Eve’s nakedness. In hindsight, surely this was a gentle foreshadowing of the later moment of déjà vu. But stay tuned. . .
So, when Pilate asks Jesus, what have you done, how can we not recall that question in the garden? Here the new Adam stands before an earthly judge, but his answer is quite different from the old Adam’s blaming of Eve in the garden. Jesus’s response is a non-answer. My kingship is not of this world. If his kingdom were, a blame game might ensue. The chief priests are responsible for my arrest, Jesus could have said. My own disciple has betrayed me, he might have said. Even Peter has denied knowing me, he could have lamented. But he doesn’t. And here in Jesus’s non-answer to Pilate’s loaded question, we find the true meaning of Jesus’s kingdom.
What have you done? Jesus redeems that question from a cycle of shame and guilt. He turns it from a condemning question directed at the Lord of all creation into an opportunity to confess the true nature of his kingdom. His kingdom isn’t of this world. His kingdom isn’t a kingdom based on earthly power. His kingdom won’t be ushered in with military might, as the Jewish people had assumed about their Messiah. His kingdom isn’t in competition with kingdoms of this world, because it’s a heavenly kingdom and holds no space in finite time.
And yet, that kingdom must be realized here and is partially realized here. That kingdom is comprised of citizens—of you and me—who live in this world but as if we are not of the world. Jesus’s mission is to bear witness to the truth, and as his beloved, we’ll follow his voice, which speaks only the truth. We’ll put ourselves as close as we can to the one who is truth.
What have you done? In a moment of déjà vu, Jesus redeems the question for all of humanity. As the Word made flesh and perfect image of God in human time, Jesus has no wrong to confess. The question of judgment directed at him becomes a question of judgment directed back at the world. What have you done?
And what we’ve done over so many centuries is turn our backs on the One who came to save us. We’ve gone our own individual ways. We’ve forgotten God’s many blessings. We’ve followed other gods and made other idols. We’ve turned inwards on ourselves. We’ve tried to be anything but ourselves, a people God calls daily to grow into his likeness. We’ve hidden in the garden when God has called our names. And when we find ourselves naked before him, we’ve tried to foolishly cover up our vulnerability with all kinds of fig leaves.
What have you done? Jesus isn’t scolding us with that question. He isn’t condemning us. He’s inviting us to confess, first, our falsehoods and deception. And then, Jesus redeems the question by inviting us to confess what he has done for us. We’re his risen Body. We’re his disciples. What have you done? This question is an invitation to us to confess what Christ has done for us and for the world.
What has he done? He’s freed us from sin. He’s freed us from our earthly divisions so that we can exist together in unity and peace. He’s reconciled us to God the Father and to one another. He’s made us into one family here on earth and in heaven. He’s loved us even when we haven’t shown love to him and others. He’s given us life even when we’ve denied fullness of life to others. He has and does protect us as a Good Shepherd protects the sheep. He’s sought us out when we’ve been lost. He continues to speak to us and comfort us with the Holy Spirit. What has he done? So much! And we must proclaim this good news to the world through our own lives. What have you done? Jesus has redeemed the question so that we can turn from sin and live in the fullness of life he’s prepared for us.
Here in the Mass, before the altar of God, there’s nothing we can or should hide. Outside the walls of this church, it’s almost impossible to be fully ourselves. We’re either told we’re not enough or don’t have enough. We’re judged by our worst mistakes. And we know that if we lived as truthfully as God desires us to live, we would suffer, as an echo of our Lord’s suffering on the cross. In some corners of the world, we would indeed be killed.
But this is the house of God, the gate of heaven, and in this holy place where there are no secrets before God, we remember that Jesus has redeemed the question for us. What have you done? It’s asked not in condemnation but to elicit first our confession and then our turn of repentance to face the true life given us in Christ Jesus. And that life is found when our whole lives are an answer to what Christ has done for us. What have you done? Pilate asks Jesus. And although he makes no real answer, we as his disciples and risen Body make our own answer. What has he done? He has witnessed to the truth. He has called our names. He has loved us and set us free. Thanks be to God.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Last Sunday after Pentecost: Christ the King
November 24, 2024