Scripture can be found here…
In 1925—seven years after the conclusion of what was then known as “the Great War,” and fourteen years prior to the outbreak of a war no one believed could happen following the devastation of the first one—in that year, 1925, Pope Pius XI issued a proclamation establishing what was officially called “the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe.” Christ the King Sunday was born. The celebration caught on quickly in other churches around the world, including our own. Nationalism was on the rise, in particular, the brand that would ultimately be known as National Socialism. Hitler was gaining popularity by stoking the fires of populist resentment in Germany. This observance of Christ the King was born in the hopes that it might unite Christians around world to place their faith Christ rather than in the politics and politicians who were attracting people to ever more extreme positions.
Nearly 100 years later, we lift up Christ the King, and… it’s complicated. Certainly, Jesus Christ has been represented as king in artwork for more than a thousand years. But I think it’s safe to say that the idea of Jesus of Nazareth being hailed as King of the Universe was on no one’s radar when he had the dust of Galilee on his feet, and reached out his hands to bless and heal, to feed the hungry, and to wash the feet of his puzzled disciples. In three of the four gospels Jesus talks continually of the kingdom of God, the kingdom of heaven. He offers a sharp contrast with earthly kings: he describes them as ruinous murderers. When asked point blank, “Are you king of the Jews? Jesus answers, “You say so.” The only places the gospels clearly identify him as king are when the Magi are following the star to find him as a small child, and when he is breathing his last on the cross.
What sort of king do we have in Jesus Christ? Can we compare him to his ancestor David? The passage we’ve just heard from 2 Samuel is a poignant one: the last words of David, in which he tries to sum up his life as God’s anointed. David begins with the titles he claims for himself: he is the man whom God exalted, he is the anointed of the God of Jacob, and in one of the most flexible Hebrew phrases I’ve ever come across, two translations are possible: he is either the favorite of the Strong One of Israel, or the Sweet Singer of the Psalms of Israel.
In this passage, which is, itself, a psalm, David reports what God has to say about kings:
One who rules over people justly,
ruling in the fear of God,
is like the light of morning,
like the sun rising on a cloudless morning,
gleaming from the rain on the grassy land.
A good king, according to God according to David, is a beautiful light.
Doesn’t that describe me? David asks. Isn’t that the kind of king I’ve been? Well… at times. Anyone who has spent any time with David knows that, he is certainly hailed as a brilliant composer, singer, and player of worship music, and a genius on the battlefield, both personally and as a leader. But David has blood on his hands: he has ordered the murder of a faithful general to avoid awkwardness over having impregnated that general’s wife. And as a result, the sword never departs from his house, and his children suffer the consequences. Like most humans King David is a mixture of light and shadow.
David’s self-eulogizing skirts the issue of his sin and failure. But his deathbed psalm does help us to consider what kind of king Jesus might be. In the gospel of John, Jesus is called the light of the world. And our passage from the Book of Revelation goes even further: there he is called “the ruler of the kings of the earth.” King of kings, but without a throne or a palace or an army.
So what kind of king was he, our poor, brown-skinned Palestinian Jew, who spent zero time calculating how to gain popularity or to lead armies into battle? What does it mean that he called us to turn our lives around and to believe that God has good news for us? What does it mean that he answered the question, “What is the greatest commandment?” like this?
“The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” ~Mark 12:29-31
What kind of a king does that make Jesus?
In chapter 18 of the gospel according to John there is a conversation between Jesus and Pontius Pilate. Pilate has asked Jesus whether he is king, and Jesus has been characteristically evasive. But he does say this:
“You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.”
~John 18:37
Jesus came to testify to the truth. The truth he shared is simple, but not easy. What God wants from us, what God wants for us, is love.
I know I preach about love all the time. It is at the heart of at least 4 out of every 5 sermons I preach. But this week, in particular, I am acutely aware of how this cultural moment in which we are all living seems to be all about hate. Some of the loudest voices in our nation and in our world encourage us to hate and fear one another. We are told to hate people who don’t look like us, who don’t vote like us, who don’t pray like us, who don’t love like us. We are told to divide ourselves based on race, on religion, on different beliefs within the same religions, on gender presentation, on sexuality, on citizenship or the lack thereof. But when we read the gospels, we don’t hear Jesus telling us to do those things at all. Jesus challenges us to love. He dares us to love.
In a world that asks us to fear and hate one another, our only option as followers of Jesus, is to resist. Our only option as subjects of Christ the King, is to love. This is the truth he proclaims, and, as David said, a good king is a light—a beacon for his people. He illuminates the path for us. And, in the case of Jesus, he commits to walking it with us, too. His truth, our light: dare to love. Thanks be to God. Amen.