Texts: Jeremiah 23.1-6; Luke 1.68-79; Colossians
1.11-20; Luke 23.33-43
Today is the festival of Christ the
King. It is the last Sunday, and the
last word, of the Christian year. It
serves to remind us that, in the end, God will be sovereign over all things.
The English mystic, Julian of Norwich, captured the essence of that affirmation
when she said, 'all will be well and all things shall be well'. Now . . .
if you pause to reflect for a moment, you'll realise how laughably audacious
that message appears to be. In the
middle of economic meltdown, wars and rumours of wars, in the middle of
horrific poverty and environmental crisis . . . 'all shall be well and all
things shall be well'?
Please, tell me if I'm wrong, but I
would have thought that it was not God who was directing the fate of the world,
but multi-national corporations like Coca-cola.
And I'm being absolutely serious here.
The Coca-cola Company is amongst the most powerful forces in the world
today. It owns and controls more
subsidiary food and drink companies than any other. It employs more people and has a greater
cash-flow than many governments. But
what is more significant is the power Coca-cola has over people's hearts and
minds. You see, Coke was the first to
create not just a product, but a need.
None of us actually need Coca-cola.
It's a sugary soft-drink with almost no nutritional value at all. But if you go into the poorest village of
India and ask people what you can do for them on a hot day, they are more than
likely to ask for a Coke. Before Coke
came along, industries would create products to fulfil the needs of
already-existing markets. But with Coke,
something quite new came into being.
Through the power of advertising, Coke actually began to produce the markets themselves. To create needs that weren't there
before. The need for a sugary cola
drink. A tailor-made product to fulfil a
tailor-made need.
Coca-cola's advertising is very,
very effective. It is omniscient. It is everywhere. If you're a young person these days, it's almost
impossible to feel like you're having a good time unless you have a coke in
hand. Coke is the symbol of youthfulness
and vitality. It's also the symbol of
western freedom. I can do anything I
want. I can be anything that I
want. The Coca-cola market-researchers
are very, very clever. In the last few
years they have even tried to tap into the renewed interest in things
spiritual. They present Coke as the
pathway into other worlds, the elixir of the gods which can keep you forever
young and deliver you from the boredom and tedium of everyday life. With Coke, life can be an adventure with
mystery and intrigue.
The Coca-cola company has used its
power very subtly. But the effects are
devastating. The people of Mexico City
are very poor. They have difficulty
finding the money to buy enough food to maintain a good standard of
health. Yet they drink more Coca-cola
than the whole of Australia put together.
Why? Because they have been
brainwashed by advertising. I might be
hungry, but if I'm drinking Coke, things can't be too bad. Note, also, that the Coke company has a
rather appalling record when it comes to labour policy. Most of its operations these days are in the
two-thirds world. Impoverished workers
are paid pittance to produce the sugary stuff.
They are hired and fired at will, with little or no compensation or
redundancy measures in place. Workers
will therefore do pretty much anything for the company in order to keep their
jobs. Consider, too, that the Coke Company is a large contributor to the environmental
crisis that we now find ourselves in.
Huge tracts of rainforest have been removed, in some of the world's
poorest countries, to make way for sugar plantations which supply the Coke
juggernaut. Clearing the forests has led
to climate change, an extreme shortage of both land and firewood for
subsistence farmers, water shortages, and the kind of landslides that regularly
occur in places where land-clearing has become extreme.
Add to all that the capacity of
Coca-cola to silence its western critics.
Not by the crude means you can get away with in the two-thirds
world. But by throwing around the
sponsorship dollar. An example. The United Methodist Church in the United
States, a church whose rhetoric for social justice is very impressive, tends
not to say anything about Coca-cola because Coke contributes a very large sum
of money to the running of one of its principal seminary at Emory University in
Atlanta. Now, if the church can be so easily
pacified, governments even more so.
In a world run by companies like
Coca-cola, where is the sovereignty of God.
How can all things be well, when the world is so obviously coming to
grief? Well, the very same questions
were being asked on a hill outside Jerusalem, a little over 2000 years
ago. There, on a Roman cross, hung the
man many had hoped would turn things around for the Jewish people. He had been hailed as the Messiah, the chosen
one of God, who would rescue the people from domination and poverty at the
hands of the Roman invaders. But now
that particular dream lay in tatters.
There he hung, between earth and heaven, bleeding from the nails in his
hands and the scourge of the whip. Where
was God at this moment? Where was the
power of God? Why didn't God come down
from heaven and nuke all those whom had put Jesus up there? Why didn't God take back the world from the
powers of darkness by mounting a counter-invasion? Why didn't God make things right?
The words of Jesus on the cross
give some clues as to why God didn't, and why God doesn't, do such things. When the soldiers nail him there, Jesus says
'Father, forgive them. They don't know
what they're doing'. God, you see, is
not in the habit of forcing people to do what they are not inclined to do. God is the maker of that most treasured of
human qualities - freedom. The capacity
to do good, or to do evil. The capacity
to love or to hate. The capacity to
create good things, or to destroy. The
trouble with freedom is that all things can very easily come to grief. And they did for Jesus. When God created human freedom, God knew that
God himself would eventually be caught up in what human beings do. That God would eventually be nailed to a
cross. But he did it anyway. And he did it out of love. Out of love, God is willing to submit to our
freedom. Out of love, God is willing to
forgive, and to suffer the consequences of our foolishness. Out of love, God is crucified with the poor
of India, and the disappeared of Pinochet's Chile, and the murdered priests of
El Salvador. And, out of love, God is
willing to forgive them all.
You see, the power of God to be
sovereign in the world is very different to that of Coca-cola or any of the
other multinational powerbrokers. And it
is different to the power currently being wielded by the Synod of Victoria and
Tasmania over other councils of the church.
God's reign of peace will come, not as a result of forceful or
manipulative practices, but by the subtle and pervasive power of love. The power of passive resistance. The power of martyrdom and of prayer. Christ himself is the trail-blazer in this
regard. He loved the poor. He healed the sick. He was a veritable presence of God for the
little ones of his time. And when he was
crucified, he did not remain that way.
Somehow he rose to new life. Not
life as it had been, life in the shadow of death. But life in all its fullness. Life lived in the peace and communion of
God. The rumour of God, then, has never
been put down. It remains the strongest
power in the world. It whispers in the
ears of political leaders. It challenges
the bullying practices of companies like Coca-cola and the Uniting Church. It beckons to us each time we come to the
place of dread, when we realise that life according to the vision of the
advertisers is not all its cracked up to be.
One day, we believe, the rumour will cease to be a rumour. That which has whispered in our hearts will
be proclaimed from the rooftops.
Everyone will know that Jesus is the king. And his glory will fill the earth as the
waters cover the sea.
This homily was recently adapted from a sermon first preached at Devonport Uniting Church in 1998.
This homily was recently adapted from a sermon first preached at Devonport Uniting Church in 1998.
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