11/24/13
There’s an old story that, some years ago, in one of the capital cities in Europe, a man was at a cocktail party, and found himself by chance in conversation with a man whom he was sure he knew from somewhere, but he couldn’t place him. So the man tried to lead the conversation in directions that would remind him of who this guy was, and how he knew him, but nothing came of it. And finally, in a desperate attempt to get some information, he said, So, you still at the same old job? And the other man said, Yes, I’m still the King of Sweden.
Being a king ain’t what it used to be.
But whatever being a king means, it remains an issue for us here, because today in the Episcopal Church, we celebrate the feast of Christ the King. This occasion is a relatively recent addition to our church calendar: it was instituted by the Roman Catholic Church in 1925, a small number of Episcopal churches adopted it shortly thereafter, that number grew to include the whole church, a couple of other denominations picked it up as well, and in 1970 it was permanently placed in our calendar as the last Sunday before Advent. So one thing we see from this history is that our church calendar, like our liturgy, is a living thing; it was not ordained by God and frozen for all time. We are responsible for what we do here, and our church does respond to the times we live in.
So, saying that, we should pay attention to what, if anything, the words “Christ the King” mean for us today.
The feast of Christ the King was established by Pope Pius XI in response to the rise of fascism in Italy – Mussolini had just come to power - and, more generally, the secularism which was coming to dominate human society, a problem which is certainly familiar to us today and which the establishment of this feast day obviously did nothing to stop. Secularism is a way of life that leaves God out of humanity’s thinking and living, and organizes life as if God did not exist; or as if God were an extracurricular concern, a being like other beings, and belonging to a church was like being a member of the Spanish Club in high school. The feast of Christ the King was intended to proclaim in a striking and effective manner Christ’s dominion over individuals, families, society, governments, and nations.
But what kind of dominion is that?
If the feast of Christ the King serves the purpose of witnessing to the reality of God’s rule over human life, then it fulfills its function. But how does it witness? What kind of rule is that? We have to acknowledge that the whole idea of Christ as King can be problematic, for a number of reasons.
If you’re anything like me, you’re instinctively a little hesitant about buying into that language. My gut reaction to the words “Christ the King” is that they exemplify the kind of triumphalism and imperialism that has given the Christian church, and Christian faith, a bad name. This is the attitude that, for many centuries, has announced, We’re Christians, and we’re better and stronger and smarter than anybody else is, and God certainly loves us more, and God wants everybody to be like us, inside of every heathen is a Christian trying to get out, so we’re going to go forth and make disciples of all nations whether they like the idea or not, and we’re going to win. Whatever that means.
That’s not what Jesus was talking about. That’s not the kind of church he wanted.
The idea of Christ as king is particularly problematic for us American citizens. We don’t have a king: in fact, as a people, we’re hardwired against the whole idea of monarchy. We fought a revolution to get rid of a king, and to get rid of kingship in general, to get rid of a system in which a single individual could impose his will upon an entire people.
Beyond that, a king is the embodiment of earthly power; and to put it mildly, earthly power is often used in ways that are decidedly unchristian.
And to think of Christ as king lures us into a certain way of thinking, of seeing Christ as a king like other kings, only better. I’ll give you an example. When George W. Bush was elected President for the first time, in 2000, one of his principal sources of support was from evangelical Christians (because Bush himself is, as he avows, a born-again Christian); and at his inauguration, a number of evangelical groups came to Washington to celebrate. And I remember seeing a video clip of the pastor of one such group speaking to his people there at that time, and, in his speech, giving thanks to God that, as he put it, with Bush’s election, “Jesus Christ is now Lord of this country.” Well, that’s just a terrible misconception, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference what politician you plugged into that thought, you could make the same claim about Obama, Clinton, Reagan, take your pick, and it would be just as wrong.
But there’s a reason why it’s wrong: it’s a mistake that can point us in the right direction.
Pilate asked Jesus, Are you the king of the Jews? And Jesus answered, My kingdom is not from this world.
With that statement, Jesus is saying two things: on the one hand, yes, he is a king, it is not wrong to call him a king, he has true authority that can be trusted and will have real effect; but on the other hand, his kingship is not the kind Pilate, or any of the rest of us, is familiar with. It is not based on possessions, or powerful friendships, or high position, or family connections, any of the normal sources of authority that we would recognize.
And in today’s gospel story, we can see that Christ’s kingship does not work itself out in a way that most people would recognize right away. Out of all the stories in the gospels, out of all the images of Jesus that we could call forth, the one that our church chooses on this day to illustrate the kingship of Christ – it slaps us in the face with it - is that of Jesus nailed to the cross, a man condemned to slow, agonizing, humiliating death; hanging there between two criminals; abandoned by his disciples; so utterly powerless and contemptible that he is a figure of fun, to the leaders who’ve condemned him, to the soldiers who are carrying out his execution, even to one of the criminals who’s being crucified with him. What kind of a king is this?
Our faith call us to stand with the other criminal, the one who is able to look through the agony and degradation, past the imminence of his own death, and see the love of God that Jesus holds out to him, where he is.
This is the king that we see. This is the value in celebrating the feast of Christ the King: that in doing so, we turn away from making Christ into the kind of king we know, the kind we’re used to, the kind we think we want, we turn away from the pomp and circumstance; and instead, turn to the kind of king Christ is, who stands with us in our suffering, our frailty, our limitation, stands even with those who mock him, those who judge him, those who nail him to the cross, and holds out the love of God that can, and will, heal all of that, no matter what. That is Christ our King. Thanks be to God.
There’s an old story that, some years ago, in one of the capital cities in Europe, a man was at a cocktail party, and found himself by chance in conversation with a man whom he was sure he knew from somewhere, but he couldn’t place him. So the man tried to lead the conversation in directions that would remind him of who this guy was, and how he knew him, but nothing came of it. And finally, in a desperate attempt to get some information, he said, So, you still at the same old job? And the other man said, Yes, I’m still the King of Sweden.
Being a king ain’t what it used to be.
But whatever being a king means, it remains an issue for us here, because today in the Episcopal Church, we celebrate the feast of Christ the King. This occasion is a relatively recent addition to our church calendar: it was instituted by the Roman Catholic Church in 1925, a small number of Episcopal churches adopted it shortly thereafter, that number grew to include the whole church, a couple of other denominations picked it up as well, and in 1970 it was permanently placed in our calendar as the last Sunday before Advent. So one thing we see from this history is that our church calendar, like our liturgy, is a living thing; it was not ordained by God and frozen for all time. We are responsible for what we do here, and our church does respond to the times we live in.
So, saying that, we should pay attention to what, if anything, the words “Christ the King” mean for us today.
The feast of Christ the King was established by Pope Pius XI in response to the rise of fascism in Italy – Mussolini had just come to power - and, more generally, the secularism which was coming to dominate human society, a problem which is certainly familiar to us today and which the establishment of this feast day obviously did nothing to stop. Secularism is a way of life that leaves God out of humanity’s thinking and living, and organizes life as if God did not exist; or as if God were an extracurricular concern, a being like other beings, and belonging to a church was like being a member of the Spanish Club in high school. The feast of Christ the King was intended to proclaim in a striking and effective manner Christ’s dominion over individuals, families, society, governments, and nations.
But what kind of dominion is that?
If the feast of Christ the King serves the purpose of witnessing to the reality of God’s rule over human life, then it fulfills its function. But how does it witness? What kind of rule is that? We have to acknowledge that the whole idea of Christ as King can be problematic, for a number of reasons.
If you’re anything like me, you’re instinctively a little hesitant about buying into that language. My gut reaction to the words “Christ the King” is that they exemplify the kind of triumphalism and imperialism that has given the Christian church, and Christian faith, a bad name. This is the attitude that, for many centuries, has announced, We’re Christians, and we’re better and stronger and smarter than anybody else is, and God certainly loves us more, and God wants everybody to be like us, inside of every heathen is a Christian trying to get out, so we’re going to go forth and make disciples of all nations whether they like the idea or not, and we’re going to win. Whatever that means.
That’s not what Jesus was talking about. That’s not the kind of church he wanted.
The idea of Christ as king is particularly problematic for us American citizens. We don’t have a king: in fact, as a people, we’re hardwired against the whole idea of monarchy. We fought a revolution to get rid of a king, and to get rid of kingship in general, to get rid of a system in which a single individual could impose his will upon an entire people.
Beyond that, a king is the embodiment of earthly power; and to put it mildly, earthly power is often used in ways that are decidedly unchristian.
And to think of Christ as king lures us into a certain way of thinking, of seeing Christ as a king like other kings, only better. I’ll give you an example. When George W. Bush was elected President for the first time, in 2000, one of his principal sources of support was from evangelical Christians (because Bush himself is, as he avows, a born-again Christian); and at his inauguration, a number of evangelical groups came to Washington to celebrate. And I remember seeing a video clip of the pastor of one such group speaking to his people there at that time, and, in his speech, giving thanks to God that, as he put it, with Bush’s election, “Jesus Christ is now Lord of this country.” Well, that’s just a terrible misconception, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference what politician you plugged into that thought, you could make the same claim about Obama, Clinton, Reagan, take your pick, and it would be just as wrong.
But there’s a reason why it’s wrong: it’s a mistake that can point us in the right direction.
Pilate asked Jesus, Are you the king of the Jews? And Jesus answered, My kingdom is not from this world.
With that statement, Jesus is saying two things: on the one hand, yes, he is a king, it is not wrong to call him a king, he has true authority that can be trusted and will have real effect; but on the other hand, his kingship is not the kind Pilate, or any of the rest of us, is familiar with. It is not based on possessions, or powerful friendships, or high position, or family connections, any of the normal sources of authority that we would recognize.
And in today’s gospel story, we can see that Christ’s kingship does not work itself out in a way that most people would recognize right away. Out of all the stories in the gospels, out of all the images of Jesus that we could call forth, the one that our church chooses on this day to illustrate the kingship of Christ – it slaps us in the face with it - is that of Jesus nailed to the cross, a man condemned to slow, agonizing, humiliating death; hanging there between two criminals; abandoned by his disciples; so utterly powerless and contemptible that he is a figure of fun, to the leaders who’ve condemned him, to the soldiers who are carrying out his execution, even to one of the criminals who’s being crucified with him. What kind of a king is this?
Our faith call us to stand with the other criminal, the one who is able to look through the agony and degradation, past the imminence of his own death, and see the love of God that Jesus holds out to him, where he is.
This is the king that we see. This is the value in celebrating the feast of Christ the King: that in doing so, we turn away from making Christ into the kind of king we know, the kind we’re used to, the kind we think we want, we turn away from the pomp and circumstance; and instead, turn to the kind of king Christ is, who stands with us in our suffering, our frailty, our limitation, stands even with those who mock him, those who judge him, those who nail him to the cross, and holds out the love of God that can, and will, heal all of that, no matter what. That is Christ our King. Thanks be to God.
