Luke 23:33-43
When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”
One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
For what it’s worth, Pope Pious XI established what we call “Christ the King Sunday” back in 1925, which is to say it’s relatively new as a Christian tradition in the grand scheme of Christianity – I feel like it’s kind of a Hallmark Holiday, some of the time, to be honest – not something the earliest believers would have bothered with or tended to. It’s not worthless or without meaning, though, which is why we play along with it around here. See, the earliest Christians didn’t need a special day like Christ the King Sunday, the way that Pope Pious XI believed modern Christians did, and perhaps, still do. (Or maybe it’s more fair to say our need for such an occasion is different – or maybe that it’s evolved over time.)
Whatever the case, Pope Pious wanted a day, set apart and lifted up, back in his day, as one that would put faith in Jesus Christ very deliberately up against the popular cultural and political movements of his day – stuff like secularism, communism, and fascism. (For those of you in the Wired Word Adult Forum last week, Pope Pious would relish the chance to celebrate Christ the King Sunday, in our day and age, in direct, faithful opposition to movements of Christian nationalism that seem to be blooming in our country these days.)
All of that is to say, all of this “Christ the King” Sunday stuff – and the appointed Gospel for the day – mean to point to the stark opposition to and the profound differences between the politics and powers that be in this world and those of the kingdom of God, made known in Jesus Christ. And we’re meant to wonder about, commit more faithfully to – and find hope in – the notion that our allegiance should lie in the Kingdom of God in Jesus, rather than the kingdoms of this world.
And there hasn’t been a more glaring, obvious expression of the contradiction between these two kinds of kingdoms, in recent days, than in the funeral for Queen Elizabeth II, back in September. I’m talking about the 10 days of public mourning, the hours and hours of people lined up for days waiting for a glimpse of the queen lying in state – and of her family’s grief – and all the money and manpower it takes to make something like that happen. Again, the contradiction between the crowns and carriages and coffins of the Queen – and the cross of Christ at Calvary – couldn’t be greater.
And more than that, Queen Elizabeth’s death and the transitions within the royal family that inevitably follow – a King and a consort, Dukes, Duchesses and all the rest – raise long-held and growing questions about a modern day monarchy’s relevance and purpose in the 21st Century. As figure-heads with very little, if any, actual power and authority … is maintaining their status with all of its pomp, circumstance, and exorbitant expense – especially in light of the monarchy’s racist, colonial past – worth all those millions and millions and millions and millions of dollars every year?
And, speaking of transitions, we’ve got our own “changing of the guard” taking place on this side of the pond to wonder about, too. With the results of the midterm elections added up, we know that the Republicans won control of the House of Representatives, so have to figure out who gets to drive that train. And the Democrats kept control of the Senate, but have to figure out who’s going to lead their caucus for a change. And the campaigns for President, which won’t be decided for another two years, have already begun. So, all of those politicians and pundits – their spokespeople and stakeholders – the news anchors and analysts – are working hard to convince us to start stewing about all of it now … already … and all. of. the. time.
So, all of this is to say, I think Pope Pious XI knew what he was doing with Christ the King Sunday, because it’s meant to be all about perspective and priorities for God’s people. Today we are reminded not to conflate or confuse the powers of this world with the power of God made known to us in Jesus.
When we get confused by and sucked into the excesses of life as we know it, we are reminded that Jesus lived simply and generously and calls us to do the same.
When the world pretends that peace and power come by way of oppression and exclusion, we see Jesus loving his enemies and welcoming sinners.
When we find ourselves wondering and worrying and wringing our hands over the state of things and the shenanigans of our leaders on this side of heaven, we are invited to see it all in the shadow of Christ’s cross and in the light of God’s grace and remember that none of those pundits and politicians gets the last word.
Because so much of our time – and so many out there in the world – sing about and celebrate a super-hero kind of Jesus. We celebrate the water-walking, demon-damning, water-to-wine-making, miracle-curing Jesus. This Jesus who might show up with power from on high, a mighty warrior, a military leader, a powerful politician, a king with a cape and a crown, perhaps – someone who would take on the other leaders and rulers of the world and win, with a flash of his sword and flurry of fists.
But God delivers someone altogether different, with the promise that we will be delivered in ways altogether different, too.
God delivers this king, in Jesus, destined for thorns and a cross; destined for nails and whips and struggle and suffering; destined for death and dying and a tomb, too.
God delivers this king, in Jesus Christ – broken, vulnerable, hurting, hopeful, living and dying, just like the rest of us in so many ways. And God did it so the likes of you and I could imagine something more and better and different and holy for ourselves and for others, too.
If we only see Jesus as a King by the world’s standards – bathed in light and robed in white or, heaven forbid, a flag – we’re not recognizing the fullness of God’s grace for the entirety of our human experience, or for the sake of the whole wide world. We’re missing the power of God to be revealed in and through our weakness. We’re missing the power of God to show up in spite of our sin and in the face of those things that scare us and sadden us and that cause us to stumble the most.
But, when we see that Jesus bears our diseases and comes out of them, we know we will, too. When we know Jesus to suffer for our struggles and to weep for our grief, we have hope to endure those struggles ourselves. When we see Jesus’ humility in the face of our pride, his sacrifice in the face of our greed, his love in the face of our warring madness; when we see God’s willingness to come down and enter into the mess of this world – before promising us a way out of it all – then we get a sense of what it means to celebrate Jesus Christ as God’s kind of King – over and against the kings and queens and kingdoms of this world.
Jesus Christ became less so that we’d would know we mean more, in God’s eyes. Jesus Christ became nothing, so we’d know we are something. God so loved the world, that Jesus Christ came for all of it, not just some of us. Jesus Christ, the King, suffered, died and was buried so that, in his resurrection to new life, we could imagine ourselves to be loved and cherished children of God … to see and to celebrate that Truth for others … and to live differently, like God’s kind of humble, hope-filled royalty, because of it.
Amen
