Text: John 18:28-38

John 18:28-38

“What is truth?”

He says it, as I see him, after taking a deep drag on his cigarette (probably the third one that morning). He says it as the cloud of smoke escapes his lungs and billows around Jesus’ head. He says it as he pushes back in his ergonomic Danish modern leather desk chair, pushing his feet up on his teak wood desk in his opulent office suite with the floor to ceiling windows giving the best view of Jerusalem you can get. He says it with the most world-weary, laconic irony. He says it more worried that Jesus is going to drip some blood on his ultra-high thread count wool rug than about the answer.

He says it with the guards standing by stony-faced and his personal assistant smirking in her severe Armani skirt and silk shirt (with whom he’s been having an affair that his wife knows about but is past caring about). He says it to show off for them, to show the staff that he’s the governor, in charge, super-cool, unruffled by the beatnik Messiah in front of Him who, truth be told is more than a bit unsettling in his demeanor and speech.

He says it to show that he knows the answer, or thinks he knows. The truth is time is money, money is power and power is… what is power, anyway? It’s all that matters. And Pilate’s got it. And Jesus doesn’t. He says it with a hand gesturing to look around the room, the inner sanctum of Roman power, the pinnacle of world power, where every item in the room is designed to make the person on the other side of the governor’s desk feel small and insignificant and to make the governor appear the center of the universe.

He says it because he feels like he is the center of the universe. He’s a friend of Caesar’s from prep school. He’s ruled this prosperous little corner of the Empire for a while now, the Northern California of the Empire with a nice climate, interesting food, and some exotic foreign religions, and a temple Herod’s been building that pulls the tourists from all over. He says it because he’s got a bullet-proof limo with body guards, a villa in Jerusalem, another in Caesarea, a little place on the coast where he goes with his mistress of the moment, and a family estate on the outskirts of Rome right next to Caesar’s country place.

He says it because he’s been to the best schools, has a wine cellar stocked with the best vintages, has an army that he commands, kids in the best schools, more money than he could ever spend, and all the finer things in life. He says it because he has the power over life and death. He can snap his fingers and the guards would cut down this Jesus in a heartbeat. He says it because he can order him flogged and tortured to death on a cross. He says it because his word is law in these parts and everyone knows it—everything in the room testifies to this fact!

So how is it that this Jesus guy doesn’t seem to get this? How is it that he is actually getting under Pilate’s skin? How is it that for the first time that he can remember in ever so long, Pilate actually is feeling squirmy and uncomfortable and questioning whether he is really at the center of the universe after all?

Oh, Pilate’s heard of Jesus. He keeps up on all the would-be Messiahs and other revolutionaries. You never know. Someday, one of these terrorists might just cause real trouble for the Empire. They are a proud people these Jews with a fiery streak and a passion for restoring the Kingdom of this David which by all accounts was once quite a place indeed. Pilate has been telling Caesar they really need to beef up intelligence on these things, take the threat more seriously, give him some more assets on the ground, or else conceivably there could be real trouble someday. But Caesar laughs it off and says the Jews would never be so foolish. Keep killing their Messiahs as they pop up, and everything will be fine.

Which is what Pilate planned to do when the Jews brought this one to him. If they want to betray the leaders of their own revolution, who is Pilate to argue? But this one was strange from the start. He gave them the signal to just go out and murder the Guy in a back alley and be done with it. Rome would look the other way. But they don’t take the hint. They put him on the spot and demand a formal trial and public execution. Why? They were spooked by this Jesus fellow in a way Pilate had not seen them rattled before.

So Pilate questions Him. “Are you the King of the Jews?” He asks sarcastically. The hardcore revolutionaries would yell and scream that they are and that Rome’s time is done. The more realistic ones would beg and plead for mercy and insist they were nobodies, nothings, and grovel. Pilate liked a little groveling before breakfast, truth be told…

But this Jesus is different. He takes the never before traveled road of throwing the governor’s chic sarcasm right back at him: “Are you speaking for yourself about this, or did others tell you this concerning Me?” And He says it without a trace of accent, with a hint of a smile, like He’s the one running the interview and has no fears or worries at all, as if He’s the one with the huge army at His command and all the strategic advantages. That makes Pilate squirmy.

So he answered: “Am I a Jew? Your own nation and the chief priests handed you over. What have you done?”

And Jesus just smiles, observing Pilate’s discomfort, having turned the tables instantly on Pilate—a switch that has the guards raising eyebrows and his assistant smirking in a way Pilate finds definitely annoying. This is not going the way it’s supposed to… But Jesus lets a good long while go by and then says with a world-weary sigh of His own: “My Kingdom is not of this world. It wouldn’t be your kind of thing. You wouldn’t understand it or like it probably. If My Kingdom were of this world, my servants would fight and we’d be having a very different sort of conversation. But now My Kingdom is not from here…”

This completely unsettled Pilate. This Guy is talking like a real King. Like the King of the Universe. Like it really does revolve around Him. Suddenly, Pilate’s head is spinning like the world has gone off its axis… “So you are a King then,” he stammers out.

And Jesus says “You say that I am… for this I was born and came into the world; to bear witness of the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears My voice.” And Pilate, trying to recapture his cool, says his line: “What is truth?”

And Jesus doesn’t answer. Not a word. Just a hint of a smile. And Pilate tries to let him go but can’t. And you know the rest. The best stand-off in world literature, right here…

But what is truth? Ah… truth is seen only on the cross. It can’t be said. It can only be received by sharing in the cross yourself. It’s an enigma; wrapped in a Mystery; served up in Sacraments for those not too proud to beg. Everyone who is of the truth hears this voice.

Can you hear Him? Can you see Him? Hanging on the cross, crying out “It is finished!”? All your life has brought you to this place. Here is the axis on which the world turns. Hang out here a while yourself with the King on the cross and discover the answer to the question… for it will bring you Peace, surpassing all understanding, guarding your heart and mind in Christ Jesus. Amen.