“The Judgement Seat”
Original sermon given March 6, 2024, written and delivered by Pastor Jeffrey Leininger at First Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church.
Watch the sermon live.
“The Judgement Seat”
John 9.12-16
John 19.12-16
In the name of the Living God and the crucified Christ. Amen.
Pontius Pilate is not having a very good day. Mind you, he’s having a better day than Jesus, of course, but still, he finds himself in quite a stressful situation.
Let me tell you about it, and it might make you feel better about your current stress. As the Roman Governor appointed over Judea, his job was to keep his boss, Tiberius (Ceasar) happy; all the different factions of the Jews of Jerusalem happy; and nearby local magnate, Herod Antipas, ruler of Galilee, happy. (He also has to keep Herod’s wife happy, by the way, but that’s from a different gospel reading.)
It’s not going so good for poor Pontius. During his governorship, which lasted ten years from 26-36 AD, five different incidents of serious unrest arose amongst the Jews. This business with this Galilean prophet, Jesus, is the most recent example of a religious/ political powder keg about to blow. In fact, just a few months before tonight’s reading—where Pilate walks onto history’s stage as judge of Jesus of Nazareth—he’s recently received a very pointed letter from the Emperor. Tiberius reprimands Pilate for his poor handling of some recent events and, as one historian put it, “ominously [warns] him to uphold all the religious and political customs of his Jewish subjects.”[1]
It's clear that Pilate’s job, career, and maybe even life is on the line. You don’t want to get summoned back to Rome over this one, pal.
Perhaps it gave him some measure of confidence and comfort, then, when he orders the official magistrate chair to be brought out as he sits in judgment of Jesus.[2] It was literally a judgement seat, sella curulis in Latin; Bayma in Greek and Hebrew. The Judgement Seat: made out of ivory, the ornate chair or “judicial bench” represented the truth of the law and of Roman enforcement of the same. This is why our justices also sit on “benches” and why we use the expression “to sit in judgement” against someone. (Aren’t you glad you came to church tonight?)
So here sits Pilate, in judgement of Jesus, on the Judgement Seat. His dilemma: Jesus, this Galilean religious fanatic, is not guilty of a capital crime. He’s strange, but harmless. On the other hand, if this Jerusalem rabble gets out of hand and a real uprising erupts, who knows what this will mean for Pilate’s career… or life.
We don’t know the inner workings of Pilate’s mind, but we certainly get the sense that he just wants the problem of Jesus of Nazareth to go away. Maybe then he can just retire, you know, and slip off into the Mediterranean sunset with his wife, and no one will ever even remember his name.[3]
No such luck, Pontius, because the great irony of “The Judgement Seat” in the Passion narrative has to do with the question: “Who’s really being judged, here?” The Roman Governor—the one sitting on the ivory chair, the one with legions at his disposal, the one seemingly holding life and death in his hands—he’s the one actually being judged. And the Lamb of God, standing submissive before him, sold for the price of a dead slave, blood dripping down his brow and his back, manacled and seemingly powerless—he’s the one really doing the judging. As it was for Pontius Pilate, so it is for each of us. The most important question ever to be asked is, “What shall we do with Jesus of Nazareth?”
We know a little of the irony going on here with the Judgement Seat from examples of our own world. Some of the greatest figures we examine end up examining us in a way, don’t they? Whether in literature, music, philosophy, politics, or art—how we view the greatest human figures often says more about us then it does about them. For example, you can tell a lot about a culture, society, or intellectual movement in how they interpret Shakespeare. How did the Romantics read Hamlet? Or the Marxists? Or the Nihilists? The same could be said about J.S. Bach. Ask Dr. Wente after worship how many different views of Bach there’s been over the centuries.
But here in John 19 we don’t just have another great figure, nor even “the greatest human figure”, but rather the Lord of heaven and earth, who is veiled in humility and helplessness. Jesus came to earth to take on human flesh and to suffer under Pontius Pilate. He was judged, condemned, tortured, and crucified. But three days later, he proved the truth of his word by rising from the dead. He lives and reigns now for all of eternity, and he will come again to judge the living and the dead.
There will be a final judgement for all of us. All will be exposed—every white lie, every secret sin, every selfish and self-serving cop-out, every covetous thought, every bent and broken love of our hearts which leads us away from God. No good deed we’ve done will reconcile us before God. No amount of money can buy our freedom. No earthly power or prestige will impress the Holy God. No impressive earthly ivory seat you sit upon will matter in the end. But this and only this: that Messiah Jesus stood in my place, receiving my condemnation. He was judged guilty, and I judged innocent. Through his sacrificial blood I am now declared forgiven and set free. Because of his resurrection, defeating death, I too will live forever. How thankful we can be that Christ took our place at Gabbatha and Golgotha, and that the judgement that was meant for us, was carried out upon him.
What we do with this Jesus is how, in the end, we’ll be judged. Was he just a troublesome or troubled Galilean prophet, caught up in a religious and political firestorm? Or was he who he claimed to be: Truth itself. Love itself. And Lord of heaven and earth.
Maybe, like Pilate, you just want the problem of Jesus of Nazareth to go away. Or maybe you’ve spent a lot of time examining him at an objective distance. Tonight, remember that he’s examining you… and calls you and me back to himself in forgiveness and freedom.
Come soon Lord Jesus. Amen.
[1] Paul L. Maier, In the Fullness of Time, p. 149
[2] I follow Maier’s account, here.
[3] I owe this clever turn of phrase to Andrew Pedersen’s devotion on the same topic, written for Concordia Chicago’s unpublished devotional series, “In-Person Passion”, 2021.