At the airport, Christ is still King

Because I almost always “opt out” of the fancy new airport security scanners and take the “pat down,” I was afraid I might someday have a bad experience. A few weeks ago, I finally did.

I’m no conspiracy theorist. I opt out for various reasons. It’s my preference. I have the freedom to do so. Also, the pat down doesn’t bother me. I’m generally at ease with appropriate touch at places like the doctor’s office, the physical therapy table and the yoga studio. Over the past several years I’ve flown a lot and probably have been patted down at least 25 times. It’s not a problem.

Until, suddenly, it was.

The husband and I were on our way to Hawaii about three weeks ago. We both opted out and waited at the little gate to pass through the metal detector. The “female assist,” came first, followed by a guy. They were both for me. The man was a trainer and the female a trainee. I was the training dummy. They told me this, but I didn’t think it would be a problem.

The woman, at least 20 years older than me, was very nervous; I was very polite and tried to help. She stuttered a bit so I helpfully added, “You’ll be using the backs of your hands on sensitive areas.” She smiled, nervous, and began.

The first thing I noticed was the pressure was pretty firm. She gripped my arms and legs as she checked for weapons or whatever they’re looking for. It was weird, but I didn’t say anything. Then she did the “sliding motion,” on the leg, where the security person runs hands up the leg on the inside until they meet “resistance.” This is usually quick and light. With this lady, it was firm. She lingered too long where my leg meets my torso, her hands moving much farther up than necessary. There aren’t any weapons up there, lady! This same procedure was repeated four times, front and back, left and right. The whole thing took about twice as long as usual, as the nervous trainee kept looking at the trainer (who gave a few instructions) for encouragement. I felt uncomfortable but didn’t say anything.

When it was all over, I still wanted to be polite and helpful. So I said to both trainer and trainee something like, “I am a frequent flier and take the pat-down every time. I have never had so much pressure used. What is your standard?” The (male) trainer assured me that firm pressure was needed. Then I got upset. I told him that it was too much and it made me feel uncomfortable. In my considerable experience, this pat down was rather unusual and unpleasant. He shrugged and so I walked away.

I collected my belongings and sat down on the bench outside airport security. I was shaken and planned to sit for a moment and collect myself. My husband walked up (he’d been done for ages) and asked if I was okay. I intended to make some crack about the touchy-feely-crazy security lady. Instead, I burst into tears. I was totally unprepared for my reaction. I sobbed uncontrollably. As we sat there, the airport security supervisor came over to me and asked me what happened. I tried to explain the pressure and the lingering and demonstrated on my husband. She said nice pastoral care things that I probably say to people, “I am sorry for your tears, “and “You can fill out a comment card.” It made me feel a little better but my husband did not. He began to argue with the woman, jumping to my defense. By this time, I was embarrassed (and a little ashamed) and I tried to quiet him. I just wanted it to all go away, to pretend nothing happened. My husband got the comment card, detailed the incident and then wrote: “Conduct training for airport security on each other, not on passengers.” Someone from airport security called me last week but I haven’t had the heart to call him back.

We flew off, had a wonderful nine days in Maui and now we’re back. But I’m still thinking about this incident, for many reasons.

First, I’m so curious and interested in my own responses. I’m surprised that I didn’t speak up while it was happening, to say, “Stop!” or at least, “this is unusual and uncomfortable.” I’m surprised that I didn’t just go to the supervisor myself. I’m surprised that I got so emotional. I’m surprised that I felt ashamed, as if the whole event was my fault. I’m surprised that when my husband leaped to my defense, I tried to quiet him.

I consider myself extremely lucky that in my life I have not been a victim of sexual or physical violence. Many of my friends cannot make the same claim. I consider myself lucky because, especially as a woman, I am almost constantly aware of my surroundings and the possibilities of assault. I do not necessarily think that I have made better choices in life (I’ve traveled alone quite a bit and gone running solo in sketchy places). I just think I am lucky.

I do not know what it feels like to be the victim of sexual or physical violence or assault. I have no idea. And even after my run-in with airport security, I still have no idea. My experience was in NO WAY even closer or equal to the pain and suffering that so many have known.

However, as I reflected on my experience, I do think I have a better appreciation for why these crimes do not get reported and why people do not want to speak of them. It’s embarrassing. It’s painful. It seems like somehow it might have been your fault. It’s seems easier to go on and pretend it never happened.

There have been many movements against sexual, physical and domestic violence in our nation and in our state. Alaska has particularly staggering statistics on sexual, physical and domestic violence. A 2010 University of Alaska Anchorage Justice Center random survey of almost 900 women found that 59 % of women surveyed reported physical abuse or threats from a partner or sexual violence from anyone at some point in their life. Statistics in rural Alaska are consistently worse than in other parts of the state. Alaskans know sexual and physical assault is a problem. People of faith need to keep putting the pressure on state leaders to address these issues in ways that go beyond lip-service or political posturing.

Last Sunday was Christ the King Sunday, see my recent sermon here. I’m reassured that God is more powerful than all the powers that seem to win the day. Christ as King means that hope is possible, that justice is possible and that safety is possible. It’s not God who will magically make it so. It is ours to work toward.

Who Rules? (Sermon 11.25.12)

(This sermon was given at Central Lutheran Church on Christ the King Sunday, November 25, 2012. The gospel for the day is from John 18:33-37.)

Today we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, a relatively new festival in the church calendar. Christ the King Sunday was created in 1925 by Pope Pius XI, as a response to growing nationalism and secularism in Europe. So we hear readings, like the ones you just heard, that lift up God as powerful ruler, mighty king and lord of all. When I hear such readings, like the visions described in Daniel and Revelation, I think of cartoonist Gary Larson and his Far Side comic images of God: a long beard and phenomenal cosmic powers. God dusts his opponent in a game show, or adds a few jerks to the earth for fun.

While I appreciate Larson’s humor, the truth is, it doesn’t always seem like God is in control. It doesn’t always seem like Christ is king and lord of all. We experience brokenness in our bodies, lives and families. We see wars rage in Syria and Gaza. We see hunger and poverty here at home and overseas. We just came through a national election cycle that left some of us disappointed, some of us cautiously optimistic but all of us keenly aware of the problems in our nation that desperately need solutions.

In Confirmation class a few weeks ago, we studied the kings of ancient Israel. In most Bibles, there’s a chart of the kings, years served and if they were good or bad. It looks something like this: bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, good, bad, bad, bad, bad and bad. I explained to the students that a king in ancient Israel was judged “good” based not on political or military strategy but by faithfulness to God. I explained that God didn’t want Israel to have kings in the first place. A king takes valuable resources for armies, chariots, courts and palaces that could have been given to the poor. A king with absolute power can become corrupt. Most importantly, a king creates unity under a national identity instead of under God. People put their faith, security and trust in the king and the empire instead of God. One of the students shot up her hand; I could almost see a light bulb above her head, and said, “Like we do today!”

Yes, yes we do. We don’t have kings but we are tempted to place our identity, trust and security in all manner of things that are not God. We trust political parties or leaders and place our identity there. We trust money, investments and possessions. We create an identity for ourselves based on work or accumulation of wealth. We believe the messages that advertisers tell us about the things we need to purchase for the sake of identity or security. We put our trust in all kinds of things that are not God.

In today’s gospel story, Pontius Pilate is trying to figure out who to trust: Jesus or the Jewish religious authorities. This section is part of a larger narrative in John’s gospel, a back-and-forth where Pilate moves between Jesus, who is in Pilate’s headquarters, to the religious authorities who wait outside. Pilate is trying to figure out the truth or at least trying to get out of this tangle.

The question of kingship arises right away. Pilate asks, as he does in all four gospels, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Ironically, Jesus actually is the king of the Jews and the ruler of all, but not in the way that Pilate thinks. Later, Jesus will get a crown of thorns and a purple robe as a mockery. He will be lifted up on a cross and three days later his real power will be revealed. He is a different kind of king than Pilate imagines. The king of kings and lord of lords is standing right before Pilate and Pilate cannot see it. Pilate asks, “What is truth?” without realizing that The Truth is standing right in front of him. Jesus says that everyone who belongs to the truth listens to his voice. Pilate missed it. Do we?

This text and this festival Sunday asks us to examine where we place our identity, our security and our sense of truth. Do we, like Pilate, go back and forth between Jesus and the competing voices in our world? Where do our loyalties rest?

Thanksgiving came early this year. Usually the Sunday after Thanksgiving is Advent 1, not Christ the King. It’s an interesting juxtaposition. We celebrate Christ as King today, though in the secular world Christmas started on Black Friday and with it the excesses. Too many advertising fliers, too many sweets, too many gifts people don’t need, too many parties, too much busy-ness.   In light of this, what does it mean to proclaim Christ as King? What does it mean to place our primary identity and security in God?

This is what it means to proclaim Christ as King: We claim that we belong to Christ; our most important identity is child of God. We claim that no matter who is president, God is at work in this world. We claim that the love and presence and power of God are everywhere, whether we can see it or not. We claim that forgiveness, mercy and peace are possible. We claim that love is more powerful that hate and that non-violence is stronger than weapons. God rules, God reigns, even if and especially when we cannot see it. Just like the power of God wasn’t obvious on the cross, love and truth won, three days later on Easter Sunday. It may seem the powers of this world are in control, but God is working and moving and loving, in hidden and surprising ways. Jesus was a different kind of king than Pilate expected. Might Jesus be working and moving and reigning in your life in a different way than you expect?

In his ministry on earth, Jesus said and showed what the kingdom of God would look like. There would be peace making instead of war-mongering, liberation instead of exploitation, mercy instead of vengeance, care for the vulnerable instead of privileges for the powerful, generosity instead of greed and embrace instead of exclusion.

This is the work of the church, our part in the kingdom of God. We come here, week after week, to remind each other that hope is possible and that the love and power of God reigns.  We need to hear this, and so does our world. Then we get to work, making this world look a little more like the kingdom of God. Amen.