Sermon for Christ the King Sunday, 22 Nov 2015
Sermon for Sunday 22 November 2015
Christ the King Sunday
The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith
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One of the
first phrases I learned in Arabic was “inshallah.”
Around here,
people will say “inshallah” about everything.
Leaving work
at the end of the day: “See you tomorrow, inshallah.”
Setting up a
lunch date: “We’ll meet at the restaurant at noon, inshallah.”
Planning a
trip to Bethlehem: “Checkpoint 300 should be ok today, inshallah.”
Talking
about dreams for the future: “We’ll do it when the occupation ends, inshallah.”
Basically,
everything is “inshallah”—if God wills it—because nothing is ever certain in Jerusalem. We must always be ready with plans A, B, and C for any
scheduled event, to account for closed checkpoints, security alerts, problems
with permissions, and road blocks.
With so much
up in the air, life here is lived somehow both in the here-and-now and also in
the future. Today may be difficult, but inshallah, tomorrow there will be
peace. Today we may live behind a wall, but inshallah, tomorrow, there will be
justice. Inshallah, tomorrow will be a better day.
Very often, Christians
think of the Kingdom of God in the same way. Jesus tells us the kingdom starts
small but grows and grows, even when we aren’t looking. He says the kingdom is powerful
enough to transform the whole world – like yeast which leavens all the woman’s flour.
The Book of Revelation tells us the
kingdom is a place where there is no more death, no more mourning, no more
crying, and no more pain. We hear these descriptions of the kingdom of God—and compare
them to our present reality—and no one could blame us for thinking “Inshallah, the
kingdom will come soon. Inshallah, someday
Christ will be King.”
But today, we
the church gather to celebrate Christ the King Sunday, and we don’t have any
hymns which say “Maybe, possibly, someday, hopefully, inshallah, Jesus will be king.” On this day we proclaim Christ as King
right now, in this time, and in this
city. Jesus’ kingdom is not of this world,
but his kingdom is in this world. While recent events make it clear that we have not yet seen the fulfillment of the kingdom, God’s
kingdom —the kingdom to which we belong—has
already been born in us, is alive today through the church of Jesus Christ, and
is present wherever the Gospel is proclaimed and put into practice.
It’s interesting
to note that the church calendar didn’t always have a special day to honor “Christ
the King”. One might argue that there’s really no need for one, because every
Sunday is a celebration of Jesus’ rule over sin and death and the grave. But
this special commemoration was inaugurated by Pope Pius XI in 1925, as an
answer to what he saw as powerful destructive forces in the world at that time—specifically
the rise of the Bolsheviks in Russia and fascism in Italy. This new feast
called “Christ the King” was meant to reassure and encourage the faithful that Jesus
Christ is still in control, in spite of what any other human being or ideology
tries to sell us.
I am struck
by how similar our circumstances are today. Now, more than ever, we need Christ
the King Sunday. We need to remember that in spite of breaking news of terror,
in spite of security alerts on our phones, in spite of the guns in our faces
and the walls dividing us, Jesus is still
on his throne. In these times when others are drawing lines of fear,
division, and hatred around us, we must know that our citizenship is in a
kingdom formed by boundaries of love, mercy, and forgiveness.
This is
especially important today because there are so many other potential kings vying
for our allegiance and our attention. There are so many leaders, groups, and
ideologies who try to establish their kingdoms among us and to set the borders
of our reality:
Terrorists.
Religious extremists.
The economy.
The occupation.
Racism
and sexism.
Fear of the other.
Sin and death.
Every one of these powers and
principalities want to claim the crown and assert themselves as rulers of our
lives and of the world. They want to tell us where to
travel, where to live, whom
to fear, how to pray, how to respond to crisis, and even how to dream for the future.
One Quaker
storyteller tells of a man who went to the corner store to buy a newspaper with
a friend. When they got there, the grumpy salesman just handed over the paper
and took the money, without a smile or even a word of acknowledgement. In spite
of this, the first man politely took the newspaper and said “thank you” with a
smile.
“He was a
grumpy fellow, wasn’t he?” said his friend.
“Oh, he’s
that way every time.”
“Then why do
you continue being so polite to him?”
The man’s answer
was, “Why should I let him decide how
I’m going to act?”
In the same
way, at this moment in time we are challenged to consider who really decides how
we, as people of faith, will act in the world today. Who is our king? Do the
terrorists decide if and when we travel? Does fear dictate how we treat
refugees? Do economic reports determine if we will feed the hungry and care for
the sick? Do criticisms from others make the rules about when we can speak out
against injustice?
Jesus said, “Everyone
who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” In this chaotic world, with so
many voices competing for authority over our lives, we must listen for the
voice of truth.
The other
day, I escaped from the Redeemer church office to visit the Church of the Holy
Sepulcher around the corner. I needed a break, not just from the regular work
of the church, but from the security alerts and breaking news that kept feeding
me fear and terror and tension. I headed for the Franciscan Chapel of the
Apparition in the back, one of my favorite spots both for its beauty and for the
fact that fewer tourists are generally coming through to take photos.
And then, of
course, the first thing I did when I got into the chapel was take a photo! I
had to take a picture, because for the first time I noticed a bronze sculpture
on the back wall, which depicts Jesus wearing a large and regal crown. There he
is, floating on the clouds, one arm stretched toward heaven and the other
holding a staff on which waves some kind of banner.
This is Christ the King,
ascending in glory to sit on his heavenly throne.
What a perfect
place to contemplate my Christ the King sermon, I thought! And then, as I was
praying, a young woman came in with a wiggly little boy, about three years old.
They sat in the front pew so the mother could pray, but almost immediately the
little boy jumped up and ran up to the altar, tugging on the white paraments
and trying to put his fingers in the candle flames. With a gasp, the mother
leapt up and grabbed the boy.
But instead of sitting down again, she just swooped
him up on her shoulders and took him over to a broken stone pillar tucked into
a crevice in the wall. This pillar, the story goes, is the one to which Jesus
was tied when he was whipped on the way to the cross.
The mother
kissed her hand and then placed her hand on the stone in prayer, and then she carefully
helped her little boy to do the same, putting his hand first to his lips and
then to the stone pillar. Both stood quietly for a moment, contemplating the stone,
and then she put the boy down and he scampered out of the church.
As I watched
this from a back pew, I reconsidered what made this chapel the perfect place to
write a Christ the King sermon, for in that tender moment between mother and
child, I caught a glimpse of Christ the King. From a broken stone pillar (which
in reality holds very little true historical significance,) I heard the voice
of truth.
Here is Christ
the King—not the one with a golden crown, waving his flag as he floats toward
heaven – but one who wore a crown of thorns. Not a military leader who would
march us into a world war against another religion, but a prince who was tied
to a column and whipped for the sake of a sinful world. Not a savvy politician,
using tragic events to benefit his own agenda, but an innocent man, nailed to
the cross between two criminals.
This is
Christ the King, who has taught us how to deal with the enemy (pray for him),
how to deal with the stranger (love him), how to deal with the poor (give all
that we have for their sake) and how to deal with fear (don’t give it any time
or attention!)
Yes, this is
Christ the King, whose power and authority comes never from bombs, guns or knives,
but always from great love, great mercy, and great sacrifice. We have heard his
voice of truth loud and clear from the cross and the empty tomb. We belong to
this truth, and the truth will set us free!
As Jesus said when he stood before Pilate,
“For
this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.
Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”
Therefore,
sisters and brothers, I urge the church today to listen to the voice of truth,
and not to be fooled into legitimizing false kings and prophets by allowing
them to make the rules. We must stand firm in the truth, strong in faith and
never ashamed of the Gospel of love.
Therefore, when
terrorists say “Fear will rule you” we will say:
No, we serve
the Prince of Peace!
When
religious extremists say “God teaches us to hate!” we will say:
No, we serve
the King of Love!
When refugees
are denied their humanity, we will say:
No, we serve
the Friend of the Friendless!
When
darkness threatens to cover this city, this land, and this world, we will say:
No! We serve
the light of the world, Jesus Christ.
We belong to
the truth, and the truth will set us free!
All praise
and glory be to you, Christ our King, whose voice alone leads us, whose love
alone sustains us, and whose crucifixion and resurrection alone have saved us.
Amen.
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