Christ the King/To touch each other's chaos
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Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
Nov 22, 2020—Proper 29A Christ the King
Matthew 25:31-46
I used to be highly suspicious of the feast of Christ the King. It seemed tailor-made to play to our worst impulses: reading our militaristic and tyrannical nature onto God, and then borrowing God’s authority back for our own rulers. Such theological muddling has been the source of so much destruction throughout history that, honestly, I wanted none of it!
Until I remembered that God is deeper and more powerful than our misguided theology. Sneakier too, so that entering into the idea of Christ the King just might eventually lead us through our mixed-up machinations into the Truth: that the reign of Christ looks nothing like the empires of this world! The purpose of this feast, in fact, was explicitly to turn us away from the dangers of worldly models of power and authority. In 1925, facing growing secularism and nationalism, Pope Pius XI wanted to remind Christians that our deepest loyalty is to Christ,[1] whose leadership stands in stark contrast to that of the world.
And so, each year, on the last Sunday of the liturgical year, we reaffirm our allegiance to the reign of Christ. To its values. To its character. To its extreme strangeness, which call us, so often, to stand at odds with the culture around us. Some years we see that Reign grounded in Christ crucified, an innocent who is convicted and executed for challenging the religious and political authorities. Some years we encounter the Reign of Christ in the shepherd whose first concern is care for their sheep. This year, we glimpse the Reign of Christ in Jesus as Judge at the end of time.
Apparently, everyone is surprised by his judgment. That’s what catches my eye in this: the sheep and the goats both thought the exam would be on some other subject! Wait, what? It wasn’t about some really obvious display of religious piety or grandiosity that I did or didn’t do? It wasn’t about a fervent declaration of faith, or a huge donation to the church? It wasn’t even about whether I managed to avoid committing any of the really big sins, like murder or adultery or mixing up their, there, and they’re?
No, it’s not. I mean, of course it isn’t about being the most overtly “religious” person. Pope Pius XI really should have known this, since I’m sure he’d read all of Jesus’ warnings to those religious leaders who wanted to rest on their holy cred and neglect God’s call to care for the last and the least. So, the part of him that instituted the Feast of Christ the King, in order to shore up his earthly authority over Catholic nations by borrowing Christ’s authority for himself, well … that was a problem too. One that the sneakiness of the Truth would need to work through and transform.
Because Christ’s kingship is entirely different, and cannot be used to reinforce any goals of earthly domination.
And Christ’s kingship is entirely surprising. Even to those who are following Christ, it is surprising. Surprising that it comes down to something this simple: that you see those who are suffering in all kinds of ways, and you do something to relieve that suffering. This is the guiding character of the reign of Christ, and whenever it happens, the Reign of Christ is breaking in. Whenever it happens, the follower of Jesus has come face to face with their King, with their leader, with their own salvation!
It is that simple, and that surprising. Surely it should be larger, and look way more religious? A rite, perhaps, or a prayer, maybe a confession of faith?
Nope. The ability to see. The willingness to see, and to respond. How often do you need to do that? Well, it’s hard to say. On the one hand, doing it once gave someone sheep status. On the other hand, not doing it once gave someone goat status. I don’t actually think that’s the point, and maybe we need to stop projecting our scoreboards onto Jesus. The point here, the utterly surprising and extremely forceful point here, is the character of the kingdom of Christ: that his reign (first and foremost and forever and ever) comes into being whenever we notice and respond to the hurts and wants and sufferings of others.
There is a statue of Jesus, by Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmalz, that portrays our savior as a homeless person sleeping on a bench, with nothing but the wounds in his feet and hands to identify him. Well, nothing but the wounds, and the witness of today’s gospel, which tells us that any time we see a person in need, we see Christ! As you can imagine, the reactions to this statue have been mixed. In fact, in one city, a woman called the police within hours of the sculpture’s installation on church grounds, assuming that the figure beneath the blanket was a real homeless person.[2]
If we’re honest, most of us can at least sort of understand that. After all, we shy away from Jesus’ description of his kingdom for a reason! He calls us into something that we might rather avoid: The vulnerability of it. The ragged edges of life that scare the heck out of us. If we notice … if we respond … if we take a step into someone’s life that is not going as it’s supposed to, well, we have NO IDEA what chaos we might be taking on!
It can feel like too much risk. Better to steer clear, so that I won’t get overwhelmed, won’t be asked to give too much, won’t find myself with no idea what to do next, and won’t get my heart broken by the incomprehensible pain this world can hand to people. Better to turn away. Better to walk on by.
Except … except then, you’ll have missed Jesus. Then you will have chosen to lose the chance to encounter the living God, who will be there in your courage, there in your compassion, there in your breaking heart, there in the shared humanity you will discover with this person you touch and who touches you. Jesus will be there. In that other person. In you. In the power and ability you will find to be there in that moment.
This is the reign of Christ. This is the kingship of Christ, which does not seek its own wealth, or stature, or domination. In fact, it calls us to stand against all those things, giving our allegiance instead to a realm whose soul and identity lie in mutual care. Christian patriotism (if you will) asks us only to be willing to enter each other’s chaos, to touch the ragged hem of each other’s humanity, and to know that this will give us a true glimpse of the face of God. May it be so, Amen.
[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feast_of_Christ_the_King
[2] Debie Thomas, https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2825-you-did-it-to-me