Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Robert Leo Sevensky, OHC
This past Wednesday, the New York Times published an article titled “How Two Times Reporters Cover Christianity in a Polarized America.” It was an interview by Patrick Healy with two journalists from the New York Times whose beat is religion, Elizabeth Dias and Ruth Graham. In one of her responses Ms. Dias commented: “I remember talking to one Christian man in politics earlier this year who was explaining to me that while, yes, he sees America as a democracy, he also ultimately sees it as a democracy inside a monarchy where Jesus is king.” What should we make of such a statement by a politician, a statement likely shared by a significant segment of the American population? How do we talk about kings in our religious discourse and in our Christian message given our recent history of No Kings demonstrations and the frankly ambiguous evaluation of kingship in both the Old and New Testaments? Is there any place at all for talk of kings or sovereigns or empires?
I struggle with this. It's undeniable that God, the Holy One, is described as king and sovereign and universal ruler and judge throughout the long history of the Bible. It's also undeniable that of the hundreds and hundreds of references to kings and rulers and sovereigns, many--perhaps the majority--refer to bad kings and rulers and sovereigns: evil tyrants, oppressors, tribalists or nationalists, dictators, autocrats, men (almost always men!) who were violent, vindictive, selfish and deeply, deeply flawed. It seems that references to good kings are scarce, and even these are not without their own ambiguity. Think of David: a mighty king who obtained his wife by having her husband killed in battle. Think of Solomon: wise perhaps but somewhat profligate. Did he really need to build that large a temple in Jerusalem and at the cost, no doubt, of enslaved or indentured people? Jesus, too, is called king, both in scripture and certainly in the spiritual tradition of Christian worship and prayer. But what does that mean exactly? For all its triumphalism, today's feast invites us to struggle with this language and this imagery…language and imagery which can be both comforting and dangerous.
An historical footnote. Today's feast is exactly one hundred years old. Pope Pius XI created it in 1925 to counter a growing secularism and certain developments in the world political theater. There was the rise of the Bolsheviks in Russia and the beginnings of the fascist movement in Italy under Mussolini as well as various radical labor movements and a looming political settlement that was going to deprive the Vatican of the papal states which once covered most of central Italy, reducing its land holdings to a mere 121 acres in the center of Rome, the so-called State of the Vatican City. Against these developments and others, the Pope instituted this feast as a reminder that the only real and ultimate power is that of God in Christ…though with the implication, I think, that it was the Vatican which was at the center of that power. The feast or observance was originally observed on the last Sunday of October until it was transferred in 1970 to the last Sunday after Pentecost, the Sunday next before Advent, which means the last Sunday of the Christian year. In an amazing ecumenical development, the readings that went along with the feast included in a new three-year cycle of readings—the so-called Comon Lectionary—were adopted by many Christian bodies including Anglican churches as well as Lutheran, Reformed, Methodist and others. And with the readings came the feast. Some would say that our own current political situation in this country and throughout the world reflects the same chaos and fears that Pope Pius XI addressed one hundred years ago. I certainly share that view, at least to some extent. But again, we must ask ourselves: what is a king, a sovereign, an emperor? And can we honestly speak of God in Christ in such terms?
When I think of a king or sovereign or emperor, I think of someone who has uninhibited, absolute power and who enjoys a lifetime appointment or tenure and who has control over large numbers of people and resources. And they are often people who wear strange apparel: crowns and ermine robes. And they carry scepters and orbs and wear swords. As a child I was fascinated by such things. I remember looking at an old issue of the National Geographic Magazine that covered the coronation of Queen Elizabeth the Second in 1953. Wow, I thought. This is great. The recent coronation of her son, however, I found more than little embarrassing with symbols and ceremonies that no longer spoke to me or to our age. But those are extras really. Let’s face it: kingship, sovereignty, imperial majesty is all about power. And most of the royal rulers of Europe and elsewhere no longer exercise such power. But others do…or hope to.
Today's readings for this Feast of Christ the King offer us a radically different vision of kingship. In today’s gospel passage from St. Luke, we are invited to see the kingship of Jesus in all his glory, though not seated on a throne, or carrying orb and scepter, or wearing fine robes and certainly not a sword or saber. Rather we see the fullness of the kingship or reign of Jesus exercised from pulpit of the cross. And what is that exercise? It is nothing less than forgiveness. In Luke's gospel that we hear today, Jesus prays, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." And to the criminal who asks Jesus to remember him, he says: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” And the final word is not that Jesus but that of a centurion who saw what had taken place. He praised God and said, “Certainly this man was innocent.”
If today we acknowledge Jesus as king or sovereign or ruler, it can’t be a kingship of this world, as Jesus says in St. John's passion narrative, but one which is characterized by mercy, forgiveness, a reaching out to others even in our own pain, and like that centurion, witnessing to the injustices of our world. And in the power of that witness praising God and changing our lives to become more and more agents of mercy, forgiveness, and compassion. Just like our Savior. Just like our King. Just like Jesus.
In the second half of Lent, as we approach Holy Week, we begin our morning worship by saying or singing the invitatory: “Christ is reigning from the tree; Come let us worship.” This is the kingship of Christ. It’s not the entirety of it of course, but it is at the center, and it marks and interprets all the other images of the kingship of Christ, the sovereignty of Christ: Christ the Judge, Christ the Truth, Christ the Shepherd, Christ the Governor, Christ the victor, Christ the Lord. It is this Christ that is captured in the famous 13th century prayer of Saint Richard of Chichester which many years ago memorably became part of the musical Godspell. Saint Richard prayed:
Thanks be to thee, my Lord Jesus Christ,
for all the benefits thou hast given me,
for all the pains and insults thou hast borne for me.
O most merciful redeemer, friend and brother,
may I know [see] thee more clearly,
love thee more dearly,
and follow thee more nearly, day by day.
Amen.
“O most merciful redeemer, friend and brother.” That, for me, is Christ our King. And perhaps that is enough.
Christ is reigning from the tree. Come let us adore him.
Amen.
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