November 24, 2013

Reflection for November 24, 2013: A Most Unusual King

Today, we celebrate the Solemnity of Christ the King, as we do every year around this time, right before we enter the soft blue twilight of Advent and set out on our journey toward the rising sun of Christmas.

It seems perfectly natural today for us to hail Christ as King, but that is only because we are used to the notion; we have no idea how utterly weird the idea of Jesus of Nazareth as King seemed to the people of his day. After all, Israel already had a king of sorts -- not much of one, of course, just that oily overfed Roman puppet Herod. Still, even when the king of Judea is a jerk, he’s still the king of Judea, and it doesn’t matter whether you voted for him or not – especially since it will be many centuries before voting exists. But whether you like him or not, and most people (even his own family) can’t stand the guy, Herod is the king of Judea, and he’s parked in immovable porcine majesty right there on the throne, and unless you want to literally have your head handed to you on a platter (a la John the Baptist) you’d better just get used to the idea and keep your opinions to yourself. Besides, even if you could topple Herod in a revolution – unlikely, given that he’s only king because the Romans want him to be king and have chosen to use their military might to prop him up -- for all you know you’d end up with somebody worse. Several somebodies, even: the rival kings, ferocious factions and the civil wars that usually follow violent uprisings are one of the curses of history. One king per country seems like more than enough; kings cost so much in care and feeding, and tend to have such expensive and annoying habits. At least that’s true of the kind of kings that people like Herod tend to make.

But we’re not talking about a “king” like Herod today. Today, a new king comes on the horizon, one who is and was and always will be unlike any other king throughout all of history. A dusty wandering carpenter who spoke in parables and drank wine with outcasts and went about the rugged landscape on foot, healing the sick and feeding the hungry and changing people’s hearts -- and lives – simply by looking them in the eye, or gently touching them, or breaking a loaf of bread and thereby sharing his life with them. Other kings gloried in pomp and power, and traveled by glittering chariots, sitting on lavishly jeweled thrones and served by groveling slaves; they chased after gold and silver and women, and started wars for yet more glory and power -- and now and then, just to keep in practice, they knocked their subjects’ humble heads right off of their humble shoulders. But Jesus was different in everything that he did. He walked everywhere he needed to go, no matter what the weather was like, and he squatted in the dust of the rocky ground to teach, and he never, ever got paid a wooden shekel for the work he was doing. At night he slept out under the stars, and looked up and smiled at them -- smiled as if he and the stars were old friends, as indeed they were. And he pitied King Herod and Emperor Tiberius, who were so puffed up with pride for their jewels, because he knew there were never any jewels as beautiful as the bright desert stars that Jesus’ own Father had made. And this strange wandering King of ours turned his back on worldly glory and power, and gave his heart to the least of our brothers and sisters: to the poor and the hungry and the sick and the stranger and the lost and the lonely and even to you and to me. Our king was a king who lived like the absolute opposite of every other king. No wonder so few of his contemporaries accepted him as royal.

When he was nailed to that bitter cross on Calvary, all the Big Shots sneered at Jesus, and said snarky, vicious things like, “He saved others, let him save himself.” They never got the point of Jesus, you see. We might think we do now, but we still misunderstand more than half of what he said and did. You can’t look at the world we live in or, even, honestly, at our own daily lives, without seeing how wrong we still get it. But at least we technically acknowledge Jesus as King and Lord. Sometimes, in fact, we almost forget he was also and always a man as well -- and that he was our brother, as well as our Savior and our King. As I said before, there aren’t too many kings so marked by such glorious contradictions.

Jesus turned the universe upside down, and this whole muddy and messy old planet will never be the same. On the feast of Christ the King, we remember that Christ is King: We acknowledge his rightful place at the center of our lives. That is what it means, to pursue the One Thing Necessary, as Jesus called us to do: It means that everything else in our lives, no matter how important, needs to come in second place in order to come out right. At every Mass we proclaim what an extraordinary king Christ was, and is, and ever shall be. Other rulers had slaves and peasants to tend their fields and slice their bread; they never lifted one plump bejeweled finger to do any useful work; their servants brought them food and wine and served it to them on their knees in gorgeous golden vessels. But instead of being served by others, Jesus insisted on doing the serving himself; instead of waiting to be offered bread and wine, he offered himself as Bread and Wine. For us – for regular people like you and me. No one has ever given what he gave and continues to give to the world today. How can we not be grateful? The very word “Eucharist” comes from a word that means “thanksgiving” – a good thing to remember, as we prepare to celebrate the holiday of that name.

And we need to remember this each time we receive the Eucharist. It is a gift, not a reward or a weapon or some kind of bribe. And it is a gift that cannot be earned; it can only be received in awestruck gratitude. Treating it as a reward or using it as a weapon or bribe seems utterly wrong. All of us, before we go to the Table, say, “Lord, I am not worthy.” Do we mean that, or is it simply a polite nothing? No one can be or has ever been worthy to receive the Body and Blood of Christ – and yet Jesus offers it to us anyway. Today on this feast of the King of Love, he invites us to his table. And the bread that we eat and the cup that we share will bring us closer to God, and to each other, if we humbly open our hearts to the Giver, and offer our lives to the King of Love.

--- Diane Sylvain (some of this was adapted from a previous bulletin)