Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones:
"Are you the King of the Jews?"
Ancient Testimony ~ Matthew 27: 11-14
April 6, 2008
by Rev. Dr. Donna Schaper

The way to make this brief meditation soar is to go straight to negative advertising.  I should say a lot of insulting things with great passion, use as many buzz words as possible, and it will communicate.  You will not forget it.  The data is so powerfully in, that the world is teetering on the edge of this determination: negative advertising works.  It gets people’s attention in a way that softness and kindness do not.  For example, if I were Lou Dobbs, I would sneer at words like Sanctuary, Amnesty, Haven, and Harboring.  I would do so with vigor.  You would begin to think there was something wrong with them.  Never mind that they are sacred words used in sacred ways for centuries.  Or I could just Swift Boat you.  Take your record of heroism and turn it in to a sham. A few sneers, a few gotchas, and the conversation is over.

Or if I were James Carville, I would call Bill Richardson a “Judas”―and that would be remembered.  If I were NBC News, I would wonder about Jeremiah Wright’s character because he used anger so effectively in the pulpit.  Never mind the anger that is returned to the anger decried.  Never mind the fact that his congregation founded a white church in Appalachia, using $200,000 of its mission money.  Kindness is mute.  Generosity has a lisp.  Tenderness has no microphone.  What works is anger and hate.

So again if I wanted you to remember this sermon, I would make sure I didn’t just accuse our political so-called enemies of negative advertising; I would also motivate my friends with negativity.  I would call you a racist.  Or a Volvo Liberal (haven’t they figured out that those liberals now drive a Prius?).  Or a sexist.  Or a sneaky pandering homophobe.  I would enjoy the Democrats slinging mud at each other and go deeper into that hole: I would say that these name-callings are good for us.  Why? Because they are so bad for us.  They become good for us by being bad, they become positive by being negative.  They are the labels and the labeling we have come to love.  I mean hate.  We seem to just adore things that are bad for us.  And if I preach how much we love things that are bad for us, you will leave here feeling appropriately guilty and dark, and many of us will fear (I mean hope) we have gone to church.  Orwell comes to mind, does he not?

Instead of having this sermon be memorable and “cutting edge” (don’t you love that label “cutting edge,” the same way you have come to love the label of negative advertising, or the label of  “hating”―yes I said hating―labels), instead of letting this sermon be memorable, on this first day of our month-long appreciation of nonviolence, let me point you to the structure of this brief text.

It is an alternative to being memorable, powerful, and important.  It is another way of being heard, but you won’t know you are heard for a long time.  Jesus wiggled out of the question put as a trap to him: Are you the King of the Jews?  In other words, why don’t you embarrass yourself by saying that you are great?  Jesus refused the trap.  We may, also.

It is the structure of the text that I most admire: hostile question, quiet answer; wide-ranging question, small answer; powerful askers of powerful questions, powerless man responds powerlessly.  He doesn’t take the bait.  He doesn’t think he has to be like them.
What that means for us is triple, and I will be brief.  This is a short sermon for a short day here and a long day elsewhere, marching with those who quietly get what Gandhi meant to the world.

First, I wager and bet the whole farm on this hope: that the right candidate for President in the Democratic Party will be the one who can be most kind to their opponent.  Nonviolence may not win the election but it will still be the garment on the right candidate.  Going dirty hurts our hopes for a long time.  “Mr. Richardson is supporting my opponent. Of course that makes me sad.  We have been friends for a long time.”  Forgoing the sound bite that he is a Judas is what Jesus would do.  No, I am not the King of the Jews.

Closer to home, please note just how much bullies have had to do with your own life.  I run into adults all the time who still remember how much name-calling in grammar school hurt them.  Pay attention to who is calling whom names.  Help children deal with bullies and bullying.  Don’t act like names don’t matter.  They matter tremendously.  No, I am not the King of the Jews.

Finally, kindness and tenderness may not have a megaphone, but they have your sore throat and your hoarse voice.  Have you ever noticed how one phrase of understanding or kindness can carry you through the day?  And how one slur or complaint can knock you off your game?  Be the one who structures the text for the day―not the victim or receiver of the day, but the one who structures the conversation.  Turn it toward kindness.  Be a part of the solution, not the problem.  You don’t need to be King of the Jews or be labeled by anybody.  Start there.  Stop there.  Amen.