Reign of Christ
24 Nov 2024
Monarchies today are, for the most part, entirely ceremonial. The sovereign may be the public face of a nation but wields no power over the lives of citizens. Not so in Jesus’ time.
What would it feel like to have absolute power over someone? How about an entire nation, or an entire empire? Ceaser held that power, the power of life and death, of wealth or poverty. And when you are in control, you do not want competition. Pontius Pilate knew that well. He served a bit part in the bureaucracy of Rome under Tiberius. It was all a game of thrones, of intrigue and betrayal in the race for power and wealth. You were always looking out for your Cesar and over your shoulder. If Jesus was a rival king, he had to be disposed of. Pilate would never understand Jesus because he played by a different set of rules. “My kingdom is not of this earth” says Jesus, yet if people chose Jesus it would be more of a threat to Pilate and Tiberius than any army. Jesus was the ultimate subversive king. No matter what Pilate did, Jesus would win.
Over the millennia the meaning of Christ’s kingdom has been expounded in so many ways, mostly in an attempt to justify whatever rulers or powerful people wanted to have for themselves. As much as I love our Anglican tradition, Henry the VIII was determined to be the head of the church rather than Jesus. He wanted power and for people to answer to him and not God, which frankly is no better than Pontius Pilate did.
The real answer to the question of Christ’s kingship, if you will, finds expression in a story told by Søren Aabye Kierkegaard, one that I discovered while reading a homily written by the Rev. Bertie Pearson for today’s Sermons that Work. Pearson relates the story like this:
In answer to this question, Soren Kierkegaard told a story: Once upon a time, there lived a great king. The whole country was his and he held all the power. He could elevate any commoner to a life of wealth and ease or condemn whole cities to destruction with a snap of his fingers. It was the custom of the country that, once every few years, the king would travel through all the land, inspecting every city, town, and village.
It was a great and terrible day when his vast armada of coaches would roar through a village. All the houses would be newly painted, the village hung with garlands of flowers, and all the villagers, decked in their most beautiful garments, would kneel by the sides of the roads all day, awaiting his approach.
While traveling through one village, the king spied a peasant woman out the window of his coach. He bid his driver stop, and the king stood stock still, just staring. Despite her poverty and rough appearance, she was the most noble woman that he had ever seen, and this bachelor king knew that he had found his queen.
The king began to leave the coach to kneel down in the street before her and ask her to be his wife, but he suddenly realized that he was in a pickle; no matter how she felt about him, she was certain to say yes to his proposal – not because she loved him – but because he could satisfy her every material desire, or destroy her whole village with a word. The king realized that this woman could fear him or seek to gain from him, but that she could never love him, for love is not the product of a bribe or a threat, but is a gift that must be given freely. So, the king shut the carriage door and said, “Drive on!” with the new knowledge that no one would ever love him.
That night, the king had a “eureka” moment! Upon returning to the castle, he went up to his chamber, he took off his heavy golden crown, laid aside his finely made sword, removed his ermine robes, and put on the old potato sack of a beggar.
Taking neither money nor dagger, the king crept out of the castle by night to walk all the way back to the village. His plan was to arrive at the woman’s cottage door helpless, destitute, and hungry. He would beg for shelter, beg for a crust of bread, and eventually open his heart to her, for only in his weakness and poverty could she genuinely fall in love with him.[1]
Christ could rule by power and force, but the greatness of God is precisely that He doesn’t want to! I make no apologies for believing in my heart of hearts that God is Love and that only goodness and mercy come from God. And to love God is to obey him. It follows naturally. We could be forced to obey God through fear and intimidation, but we choose to do so by love. Why else would God have become a helpless infant, born of a human mother, a compassionate teacher and friend, and a sacrificial victim? God loves us.
This is only the 99th year that this feast has been on a liturgical calendar. I would remind you it was instigated under Pope Pius XI. It was an undisguised attempt to remind Italians that ultra nationalism was not what Christianity is about. Ask Pontius Pilate!
It is prescient this year to remind many in this country of the same point. Christ is King and his is not a kingdom with borders, nor a kingdom where some have, and others do not. And the amazing thing is that what God wants more than anything from us is love!
[1] Rev. Bertie Pearson. Sermons that Work, Year B, Christ the King 2024. Semons that Work
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