Christ the King

So, what happens now? We find ourselves at the end of yet another church year. Its story has unfolded over the course of 52 weeks, taking us from anticipating the Christ, to encountering the Christ, to killing the Christ, to marveling at the Christ’s new life, and finally to following the Christ into the future.

So, what happens now? How should this story end, before we rewind it and begin again, next time with different emphases? What future do we imagine? Where is our story headed? The question swirls all around us. It lurks in the Gospel texts from last week, when we encountered what is often referred to as “Mark’s small apocalypse”: “Beware that no one leads you astray. 6Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. 7When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. 8For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.” It lowers in the appointed text for next week, “25There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. 26People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” It’s implicit in our budgeting decisions. It was shouting to be heard during the recently concluded United Nations climate change conference. It’s right there, looking us in the face, as we continue to slog through the pandemic’s lethal and emotional devastation and view with trepidation the pews that are emptier than they were last time we read these lessons three years ago.

None of us is able to see clearly into the future. But we’re still plagued by that niggling question of what comes next. There’s got to be more to Sunday morning than teleporting back to first-century Galilee so we can spend 15 minutes with a blissed-out, sandal-clad Jesus before returning to confront life in an uncertain present. So, what’s next? Where are we headed?

I’ve always felt a bit ambivalent about Christ the King Sunday. First, it’s not like it’s always been there.

It was established as part of the Church year in 1925. Second, like most mainline churches, these days, I’m uncomfortable with that kind of imperialistic language. Many have abandoned that term and now refer to the last Sunday of the Church year as “The Reign of Christ”, which is better, I suppose. The risen Christ is one who reigns and who will reign eternally. I can get behind that. But what does that mean for us in a society where selfishness and death appear to hold the better hand? Where does your theological imagination beckon you, and why? Do we engage themes like re-creation or ecological catastrophe, divine judgment or systemic oppression, and Christ’s rule or public cynicism? Or do we run from them?

It is a lot easier to get through the day (and the church year) if you neglect those kinds of topics. But then what happens when our rosy pictures of the church and our grandiose fantasies for growth, novelty, and “success” wake up to the cruel reality of a pandemic? What happens when our parochialism, inhospitality, and just plain bullying get exposed or re-exposed?

Too often, we delude ourselves by thinking that securing the future happens through controlling the discourse, the narrative. Like Pilate, we interrogate Jesus and the Bible. We troll for knowledge or scrape together whatever evidence we can find that tidily affirms what we’ve already decided is true: “So you are a king?” Just tell us what you are. Define the terms. Declare your authority. Validate the categories I’ve chosen to use. Check this box. It’s lazy and manipulative.

Meanwhile Jesus is trying to bust open Pilate’s and our collectively tiny imaginations: “My kingdom is not from this world.” You’ve missed the whole point. You’re employing the wrong criteria. You haven’t learned to dream. The point is to open yourself to what’s possible. Break your addiction to control. The fact of the matter is that we don’t have to be able to explain “thy kingdom come” with precision, charts, a Venn Diagram, or a timeline.

But we can help people figure out how to get to and get through next week. We do that by continuing to ensure that this is a safe space: A space that people need to express their disappointment, their frustration, their anxiety. We do that by continuing to be a place where we give one another permission to dream: Not to return to some illusory idealized notion of past glory and nostalgia about good old days but to discern and guide one another together into future discipleship, to be a consoling presence, and to take realistic a realistic look at our capacities and the needs of the world around us.

The Reign of Christ. It has nothing to do with kingship the way we typically conceive of it. Jesus is before Pilate because he’s told his people to take the path of peace. He told Peter to put down his sword and healed the injured soldier; He struggled against what was to come through prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane (and will continue praying while dying on the cross). This nonviolent resistance posture is not an exception to, but rather is defining of the Reign of Christ. We have to keep coming back to the Jesus Way of being – A Way that we can only come to know through Scripture and the work of the Holy Spirit within us. Otherwise, we’ll quickly slip into the assumption that because we call ourselves Christian, what we do is what the kingdom of God is.

Pilate looks at Jesus and sees someone like himself: someone who is supposed to be in charge, the most important, the one with power. I mean, you can’t have a kingdom without a king. Pilate cannot see that there’s a different standard in play, here. A standard that goes beyond higher than his own views and practices: the accrual and retaining of power and control. Jesus lays out plainly he was born for truth telling. He came into the world was to testify to the truth. Truth is the hallmark of Christ’s reign. That’s how he chooses to describe it. That is its most important characteristic.

Jesus tells Pilate, “My kingdom is not of this world!” People have interpreted this to mean that Jesus’ kingdom is somewhere in heaven and not relevant to this world. But the truth of Jesus is that he doesn’t have to exercise the type of authority that seeks to be on top. The Reign of Christ does not result in oppression. It does not foster and encourage the corruption of the judicial system. And it precludes precisely the kind of hypocrisy that Pilate displays in the interaction between him and Jesus. Jesus tells him: “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”

The values of Christ’s Reign are so vastly different from those of this world that often we Christians fail to understand them. In allowing himself to be killed and physically defeated for the sake of truth, he engages in the ultimate demonstration of the power of love. This gospel lesson that leads us toward the cross should remind us that, in the words of Jürgen Moltmann, our Christian faith has a God that was crucified.

We serve a risen Christ who reigns like no other. Rather than striving after seeking power and glory, he engages in humble service to others. Working to mirror the life of Jesus, we seek to engage in humble service to others.

So, what happens now? We continue to work and to pray in the name of Jesus. We continue to pray that the reign of Christ might be made manifest in our lives and in the life of this congregation. We are pray that Jesus’ rule of peace and justice and equity and equality would come also to us. That we might be a part of it. That we might share the wonder of that reign with others. That we might participate in it. That we might feel it made real in our own lives and experience the joy that comes from being caught up in and aligned with the purposes of God. What happens is that we accept the invitation extended to us into the reign of Christ now. That we learn to see our works of compassion and care as being caught up in Christ’s rule now. God’s kingdom comes on its own whether we pray for it or not. And we get to be a part of that as it unfolds in our own lives and in the life of the world around us. AMEN