Why do we mock?

Luke 23:33-43

33 When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. 34 Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” And they cast lots to divide his clothing. 35 And the people stood by watching, but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” 36 The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine 37 and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” 38 There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”

39 One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” 40 But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? 41 And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” 42 Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” 43 He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

It’s a relatively recent addition to the church calendar, but this Sunday is known as Christ the King, or Reign of Christ, when, having begun the year with Christ lowly, we end with Christ exalted. The appointed Scriptures for this Sunday all involve the theme of kings and kingdoms.  The psalm gives expression to the hope, that though God’s people feel powerless, God is nevertheless with them, that though they feel subject to the whims of the nations, when the Lord speaks the nations will quake, for his their Lord too.  He will put an end to wars and bring perfect peace.  

In Jeremiah the prophet denounces the leaders of God’s people who have failed in their responsibility, the shepherds who have allowed the sheep to be scattered, and announced that there will come a king who brings justice and righteousness, peace and security.  

In Colossians Paul declares that, through Christ, God has delivered us from the powers of darkness and has brought us into the kingdom of his beloved Son.  And then the passage describes Christ with the most exalted language in all of Scripture, that Christ is both the source and the goal of all that is, the very fullness of God, the one through whom all things in heaven and earth will be reconciled.   

But then we have the Gospel passage, one that seems more fitting for Good Friday, where we see Christ not using his power to subject all things to himself, but rather Christ subject to the powers of this world.  We see not Christ exalted but Christ humiliated.  He looks nothing like king; he is powerless.  So why read this passage today?  

This passage does, of course, also use the language of kings and kingdoms.  When Jesus was crucified there was an inscription places over him which said, “King of the Jews”.  That the Romans labeled Jesus this way is form of mockery.  Either they mock Jesus for thinking he was the king of the Jews, and/or they mock the Jews for having a so-called king like this.  Whatever the case, the message is the same: we hold the power of life and death over all who would claim power to themselves.   Whatever Jesus thinks of himself or whatever the Jews might think of him, the truth of the matter is that he’s hanging there on the cross.  What else do you need to know?  

The people merely observed, it says, but their leaders join in the mockery.  “Jesus has made some big claims about himself and we’ve heard the stories about the miracles he’s performed, so if that’s true then why’s he up there?”  If he is who he says he is, if he can save others, then he ought to be able to save himself!  The soldiers join in the fun, “offering him sour wine and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!””

It’s more or less universally true that humans delight in bringing down those whom we think have an inflated sense of themselves, who have put themselves or found themselves in positions where we don’t think we belong.  We not only enjoy this, we find it something like good and necessary.  It somehow relates to our desire for justice.  We relish putting people back in their place.  On top of all this, there is additional resentment toward Jesus for being a blasphemer, a troublemaker.  All his plans and claims have to nothing.  

Even one of thieves crucified with him manages to mock Jesus as well.  “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”  Imagine that, in your final hours, this is who you use what little breath remains in your lungs.  

The second thief, however, hasn’t given up hope just yet.  He declares to the other thief that the two of them are getting what the deserve (a remarkable admission of guilt) whereas Jesus is innocent.   And then he makes a request: “Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom”.  We have no idea what this man does or doesn’t know about Jesus; he apparently believes Jesus is innocent, but it’s impossible to say what, if any, familiarity he had with Jesus’ life and ministry.  We also have no idea what beliefs, if any, lie behind his request.  In fact, it seems quite likely that he’s simply taking a chance that just maybe Jesus - despite all evidence to the contrary - turns out to be more or less who he said he ways.  He’s got nothing to lose.  

We might want to draw a distinction then between whatever is in this thief’s heart/mind and real faith, which we take to have a more defined content.  And yet Jesus responds to the thief, saying, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise”.  It seems that whatever faith the thief had was, in fact, sufficient, which makes us wonder if maybe he’d become convinced of something in these final hours, that Jesus could see the surprising amount of faith he really had.  Perhaps. 

But the episode seems to point in the direction that the turn to Jesus in hope, whatever lies behind it, however tentatively it is made, however late in the day, is nevertheless efficacious, perhaps even altogether sufficient.  What’s interesting, though, is that thief does seem to grasp Christian theology better than just about anyone else.  His hope is not that he won’t die - he knows he will - but in the kingdom that is to come.  The disciples have scattered, afraid, having lost much but still fearful of what yet more might be lost.  It’s a consistent theme in the Gospels that those who receive the message are those who recognize that they’ve got nothing to lose, that they cannot save themselves.  And maybe we are all meant to identify with this thief; maybe we are those with much less to lose than we realize, who find faith difficult exactly because we think we’ve got something to save.  

However, we might need to admit that our attitude more closely resembles that of the other thief.  Mockery, obviously, is not a new phenomenon, though, thanks to our technologies, it’s never been easier to mock people big and small.  Even when we’re not actively doing it ourselves, we quite enjoy consuming mockery of others.  There are probably times and places where mockery is indeed appropriate, but the ubiquity of mockery and the ease with which we resort to it evidences rampant cynicism.  And, at its core, cynicism is essentially a defense mechanism.  If you never make yourself vulnerable, maybe you won’t be hurt; if you never venture hope in anyone, you’ll never be disappointed.  According do Bono: “They say that what you mock will surely overtake you; so you become a monster so the monster will not break you.”

I see in myself - and I’m confident it can be found in others too - a debilitating aversion to being seen as naive, or gullible, or even earnest.  I don’t want to be the person who puts himself out there only to be left exposed.  I’m even ambivalent about being identified as a Christian because of what I think people might think of me, so I mock other Christians to show that I’m not like them, that I’m in on the joke.   

The bad thief, even though he’s hours from his death, still makes the safe play, still acts in self-defensive mockery, reassuring himself that, though he might be criminal, at least he’s not a deluded fool.  Even in the most humiliating position, he could not humble himself, let down the facade.  I fear that we are people who, when it comes to this whole Jesus thing, see more danger than benefit, who are quite reluctant to risk anything lest we feel like fools, be seen as fools in the eyes of others.  But we may have much less to lose and much more to gain than we think, that cynicism might be traded in for salvation. 

The Christian story makes a mockery of all those who would try to save themselves, the Romans who would maintain their empire, the scribes and Pharisees who would preserve their positions, even the thief who would cling to the scraps of dignity.  It turns out that the king of kings rules not from a throne, but from the cross, that he wears a crown made of thorns, and in him we see the truth about all things, including, not least, that all our attempts to save our lives turn out to be foolishness, that it’s only when we humble ourselves, let go of our pride and cynicism, that we can truly live.