It’s the last Sunday after Pentecost, the very end of the church year. So why does our church calendar tell us that we are celebrating the feast of Christ the King? Americans, understandably, have negative images of kings. Consider how the writers of the Declaration of Independence characterized George III of England: “The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States.” The writers lay out eighteen ways in which the king has oppressed the colonists, allude to the ways they have attempted to redress these ills, and finally conclude that, “A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.” And indeed Americans have not pledged allegiance to any king since the Declaration was signed.
Nor is the feast of Christ the King in any of our old prayer books. The old lectionary in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer lists no such feast. Indeed, if we were still using the 1928 prayer book today we would be observing the Sunday Next Before Advent and would be hearing the story from John’s Gospel about the feeding of the five thousand. So where does this feast come from? Is it some ancient observance that Episcopalians only discovered when we revised our prayer book in the 1970s and adopted the Revised Common Lectionary? Actually, as an observance Christ the King only dates from the Italy of 1925. In a response to the growing power of Fascism in Italy, and especially to the government of Benito Mussolini, Pope Pius XI, instituted the feast of Christ the King. For nations wracked by one war and facing another, the day proclaimed God’s reign over the entire world. The day also reminded Christians that their allegiance was to a divine ruler and not to earthly political leaders. In concluding our liturgical year with the acknowledgement of Christ as our true ruler, we now join with the Roman Catholics, as well as Lutherans, Presbyterians, and Methodists, in acknowledging the Lordship of Christ in our lives.
O.K. I get it. But if Christ is my king, my lord, my true ruler, the one to whom I owe primary allegiance, why do we hear this Gospel reading? Aren’t there others that better showcase Jesus’ majesty? Wasn’t Jesus truly regal when he calmed the sea and commanded the winds? Wasn’t his power obvious when he fed the multitudes with bread and fish? Surely he showed his authority when he drove demons out of people and healed them from every imaginable illness. And whenever he debated with the religious leadership, the greater depth of his wisdom was clearly evident. Why this Gospel, that shows Jesus at the lowest point of his life, his humiliation on a cross? Isn’t this Gospel reading more suitable for Good Friday?
Well, certainly we read the whole Passion story in Holy Week, beginning with Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, which we celebrate on Palm Sunday, and going right through to his death on the Cross on Good Friday. As I wrestled with today’s readings, it became clear to me that the Church lets us hear this story again to drive home to us just what kind of Lord we actually have, of what kind of king we are actually subjects. The Gospel of Luke is a Gospel of reversals and irony, and in a wonderfully ironic touch, it is those who here mock and reject Jesus who point to Jesus’ true identity. To begin with, Jesus is mocked by those in political authority. Shortly before the scene of today’s reading, Jesus stood before Pontius Pilate, a man dependent on political power and the threat of violence. Jesus had been accused of saying that he was the Messiah, God’s anointed one. Thinking in political terms, Pilate mockingly asked Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus’ answer? “You say so.” Even so, Pilate had the inscription “This is the King of the Jews” put on the cross. But Jesus was not a political ruler.
Secondly, the religious leaders mock Jesus: “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah….” But Jesus was not a religious leader: he did not found a new rabbinical school or Jewish sect. Those welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday might have been expecting him to take up arms and free Jerusalem from the hated Romans. Indeed some think that Judas betrayed Jesus in the hope of stirring up a military rebellion. However, Jesus was clearly not called to be a military leader. And so, the sneering soldiers similarly denigrate him. As they cast lots for his clothes, they taunt him, saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” Even the first thief, who thinks only of himself, mocks Jesus: : “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”
Those who mock and taunt Jesus show us clearly that Jesus is no George III. Jesus is a different kind of king from any we could have imagined. No, Jesus is not a king in political, military, or even religious terms. What Jesus models for us is self-giving, sacrificial love. Unlike the tyrants of his own or even our world, Jesus models the servant-shepherd leader foretold by God in the prophecy of Jeremiah, which we heard in our Old Testament reading. Letting go of any possibility of political, military, or religious power, Jesus offers himself up for the life of the world. At the point of death, Jesus reigns from the cross, giving himself up for us, forgiving us, and assuring us of God’s deep love for us.
What would the kingdom that Jesus announced look like in our world? What would our lives be like if Jesus ruled the nations, instead of Kim Jong-Il, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Robert Mugabe, or even David Cameron or Barak Obama? Unquestionably, every aspect of our lives would be different. We would have peace instead of endless war. Gone would be exploitation of others and human trafficking, the modern-day equivalent of slavery. Instead of a vengeful, punitive system of justice, we would have mercy and forgiveness. Adequate healthcare would be available to all, instead of only to the fortunately wealthy few. Walls between ethnic groups and races would cease to exist, and all would be included within our communities. When God’s Kingdom comes, the kingdom we pray for every time we recite the Lord’s Prayer, we would truly know shalom, the well being of all humankind, and indeed of all creation. This is our hope, this is what we proclaim, and this is what we pray for with all our hearts. The shalom and reconciliation of all creation is the place to which everything that we have heard, preached, and said this year has led us. This is the point of the whole story: that God’s Kingdom, inaugurated by the birth, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus, would come to full realization.
And what of ourselves? By God’s grace, we have been brought into, transferred to this kingdom governed by Christ. We are now citizens of a different world, not our own. In the world of which we are now citizens, we know that our hope lies not in the agendas of Democrats or Republicans, of capitalists or socialists or communists, of management or labor, of democracy or theocracy. Just as we learned last week that no human monument is forever, so this week our texts proclaim that no human system is forever. None can claim ultimate allegiance from us. Every system ultimately fails. Only Christ is truly sovereign. Only Christ has the authority to claim us as his subjects.
As Christ’s subjects, we are invited to live as he lived. We are invited to see that at the heart of everything is a God who deeply, truly, passionately loves us. We discover with joy that Jesus is the Ultimate Reality who should be our Ultimate Concern. We celebrate Jesus not as a distant tyrant, a George III across a three thousand mile-wide ocean from his subjects, but as a near, dear, close presence in our lives – as close as a prayer. We celebrate Jesus as lover of the world and all that is in it. We celebrate Jesus as pure Mother/Father love, as supreme healer and transformer of life. We celebrate Jesus, God’s anointed one, who through his death and resurrection takes away the sin of the world for all and forever.
And so as we celebrate the feast of Christ the King, and as we give thanks to God for blessing us with the gift of inclusion in his kingdom of grace, let us pray in the words of St. Teresa of Avila, “We are all vassals of the King. May it please his Majesty that, like brave soldiers, we may look only where the banner of our King is flying, and thus follow his will.” Amen.
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