The King of Truth: Sermon for the Reign of Christ, November 21, 2021

In 1925, the fires of World War I still smoldered in the memory of those who had lived before it. And yet, even with the memory of the suffering and destruction still vivid in the minds of millions on three continents, nationalism and fascism began to arise in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s--political movements who sought to gain power by dividing people into victors and vanquished, that sought to claim the right to empire, exploitation, and oppression as the natural order for humanity.

Ironically, 1925 was a Jubilee Year in Christendom—the 1600th anniversary of the final meeting of the Council of Nicaea, which confirmed that Christ is of the same substance as the Father. The second section of the Nicene Creed, explaining who Jesus is, ends with the statement: “His kingdom shall have no end.”

And so, when Pope Pius XI issued his encyclical Quas Primas, which discussed the threat of fascism and nationalism as it rose again across the planet even while World War I was a bitterly fresh memory, he also initiated a corrective to that threat—a threat which still hangs over all of us, especially in America, Europe, and elsewhere. That corrective was the Feast of Christ the King. And here’s what Pope Pius XI said about this concept, which relates so perfectly to our gospel today:

It has long been a common custom to give to Christ the metaphorical title of "King," because of the high degree of perfection whereby he excels all creatures. So he is said to reign "in the hearts of humanity," both by reason of the keenness of his intellect and the extent of his knowledge, and also because he is very truth, and it is from him that truth must be obediently received by all mankind. He reigns, too, in the wills of humanity, for in him the human will was perfectly and entirely obedient to the Holy Will of God, and further by his grace and inspiration he so subjects our free-will as to incite us to the most noble endeavors. (Quas Primas, 7)

Referring to our gospel passage, Pope Pius continued:

Before the Roman magistrate he declared that his kingdom was not of this world. The gospels present this kingdom as one which men prepare to enter by penance, and cannot actually enter except by faith and by baptism, which, though an external rite, signifies and produces an interior regeneration. This kingdom is opposed to none other than to that of Satan and to the power of darkness. It demands of its subjects a spirit of detachment from riches and earthly things, and a spirit of gentleness. They must hunger and thirst after justice, and more than this, they must deny themselves and carry the cross. (Quas Primas, 15)

The Rev. Edward J. Quinn KNEW what the battlefields of that terrible war had been like. The Roman Catholic priest had been a chaplain in that war. And in 1926, he had just been appointed the priest to a new parish in Cincinnati, Ohio—the first church in the world to be named after the new Holy Feast of Christ the King. The 200 people gathered to worship at the first Mass at Our Lord Christ the King parish on December 5, 1926 didn’t even have a building— not even electricity. Just a room in a storefront, illuminated by car headlights pointed into it. The Rev. Quinn used his mass kit from his army chaplaincy to celebrate the Mass. This was as bold a statement as could be that Jesus’s reign was not about power or strife, but about peace and reconciliation.

The very humility, simplicity, and hopefulness of the scene is a reminder of the humility, simplicity, and hopefulness Jesus calls us to practice in our relationships with each other—especially in a world that is founded even right now on exactly the opposite values. Those values are listed by Pope Pius: a detachment from earthly things that we too often worship, allowing our pursuit of them to rule our lives in place of God. A spirit of gentleness. An acknowledgement of the grace that sustains us, the source of all goodness in our lives so that we may live out our gratitude by caring for each other and fighting not for advantage over our neighbors but for justice for our neighbors—a hunger and a thirst after justice that Jesus embodied with every breath and every action but we far too often shove aside in our quest for more for ourselves.

Explaining why we stiff-necked Americans, who have ever claimed to disdain anyone who tries to be king over us has always been a difficult task for preachers—right up there with encouraging people to “carry their own crosses.” Also NOT a pleasant metaphor at a time when sacrifice is pretty much a dirty word.

Yet if we are call ourselves Christians, we are called to abandon our insistence upon our own way and our own prejudices, divisions, and narcissism and bow the knees of our hearts before the power of Christ to transform us and enlighten us. We are called to give our ultimate allegiance to no country or principality, but to a Savior who refused to bow before the Imperial authority that Pilate represented. It was in this context that the Feast of Christ the King was first proclaimed. It is a feast that calls us to remember whose, exactly, we are, and the real power to which we owe our allegiance.

In our gospel today, Jesus is handed over to the power of empire, and resists its claim of dominance. Jesus literally speaks truth to power in our gospel today. Governments rise and fall, because they are the work of human intention and fallibility, always, even the best of them-- but the reign of Christ is eternal. Pilate asks Jesus three questions in our gospel-- but Jesus does not answer a single one of them. This is a reminder that Jesus is not going to cower before power. Instead, he claims for himself the role of witness—a witness who testifies to the truth.

And what is truth? One of my favorite TV shows is Ted Lasso. On it, a wise therapist named Dr. Sharon repeats this mantra: “The truth will set you free. But first, it will [tick] you off.” She is speaking about the truths of this world. The truths agains the delusions people tell themselves to justify anything in order to preserve their own sense of privilege. Even though privilege is exactly what Jesus refuses to exercise, again and again, and as his followers we are called to a radical, fierce unity in the pursuit of justice and the ending of oppression for our neighbors, even those who are strangers to us. We are called by our true King to relieve the burden of the poor, the suffering of the sick, the isolation of the imprisoned even if they are guilty of wrong-doing, to bear banners of peace and justice rather than weapons of war in our streets, to prioritize life over property. And if you don’t think that is counter-cultural, you haven’t been paying attention to just this week’s news alone.

Jesus’s truth, Jesus’s witness must be OUR truth and OUR witness. And beyond any earthly maneuvers for power, for exploitation, or for domination, this truth will set you free, and give you life and joy and community. That’s the truth of Jesus’s life. He calls us to be the very best versions of ourselves because he knows that is how we were made to be all along. He has faith in us, and calls us to have faith in ourselves that a better way is possible, through the loving, healing, restoring touch of Christ within our inmost being.

This is the truth to which Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection testify: God is love, and those who follow the Way of Jesus walk and live and move in and through and out of love for God but also, and this is the harder part, being animated to live and breathe and speak love for each other. Especially those we believe are outside our comfort zone. The Good News is: God loves us immensely. The other side of that truth, sometimes less comforting and more challenging, is that we only follow God when we love each other, especially the people who tick us off, that much.

One of the key signs that one lives under the oppressive heat of empire is realizing that the values of the powers and principalities depends upon fabrication, defamation, and subterfuge. Injustice prevails by convincing the comfortable that if they dare push back against the unjust, they will only succeed in being at the mercy of the unmerciful. It is not for nothing that one of the ancient pseudonyms for Satan is “the Prince of Lies.” We spend too much of our lives in a kingdom of calumny, an empire of evasion, a realm of revilement, a principality of prevarication. Jesus offers us true freedom from being false to our true natures as God’s children, if only we can let go of the fear that causes us to go along to get along.

The Way of Jesus was and REMAINS a threat to the power and empires of the world and right here in our own country and communities. Yet, periodically, Jesus’s followers have been tempted to claim that Jesus’s kingdom IS of this world, to claim that Jesus loves the same few people we love and hates the same people we fear or despise. They have attempted to drape God’s altars with national symbols-- as Nazi Germany did, never forget-- as if Jesus was synonymous with any nation. But that is certainly not the truth Jesus embodies.

Jesus is not about power, but about service—and so we must follow if we claim his name. Jesus is not about taking, but giving—and so we must follow if we claim his name. Jesus stands before the man who can order his death and talks not about power but about truth—which is the most dangerous power of all, in reality.

Jesus’s truth—and therefore our truth, as his followers-- is about the power of compassion, the power of healing, the power of hope, the power of restraint, forbearance, and forgiveness. Jesus’s truth—and ours—is about nothing less than refusing to harm each other when we think we can get away with it but instead honoring the image of God Godself that resides in every single human being whether we approve of them or not. Jesus’s truth—and ours—is about nothing less than reverencing all of creation and devoting ourselves to caring for it rather than consuming it and using it up because every leaf and speck of dirt bears the fingerprints of their Maker—who is also our Maker, Our Sovereign, Our Beloved. Our Lord and our God.

Recognizing Christ as reigning over us and within us, as the only authority to whom we owe allegiance, means not just following him to gain eternal life but to GIVE all of ourselves to his work of love and healing, not just from our leftover scraps but with everything we are and have.

But beyond flags or nationalities or economic maneuvering or earthly empires, Jesus’s truth most certainly WILL set us free. Free to embrace each other in love, generosity and hope.

Preached at the 10:30 Eucharist, held in person and online in a continuing time of pandemic caution, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-13 (14-19) 
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37

Citations/ Links for More Information:

Click here for the text in English to Quas Primas.

Click here for an account of first Mass at Our Lord Christ the King Parish in Cincinnati.

Reign of Truth: Speaking to the Soul November 18. 2021

John 18:33-37

In 1925, the fires of World War 1 still smoldered in the memory of those who had lived through it. And yet, even with the memory of the suffering and destruction still vivid in the minds of millions on three continents, nationalism and fascism began to grow in Europe, political movements that gained power by dividing people into victors and vanquished, that sought to claim the right to empire as the natural order for humanity.

It was in this context that the Feast of Christ the King was first proclaimed. It is a feast that calls us to remember whose, exactly, we are, and the real power to which we owe our allegiance.

In the gospel for this coming Sunday, Jesus is handed over to the power of empire, but resists its dominance. Jesus literally speaks truth to power. Governments rise and fall as the work of human intention, but the reign of Christ is eternal.

The gospel reading consists of three questions from Pilate. Let’s look at the actual statements of Jesus in our gospel. Notedly, Jesus does not answer a single one of Pilate’s three questions—indicating that Jesus refuses to cower before human power. Instead, he states one positive thing about himself: while turning aside questions about Jesus wielding political power, he does claim for himself the role of witness—a witness who testifies to the truth.

Jesus’s kingdom, however, is not geographically limited to a certain place, or even a certain people, which may be why he refuses to call himself the “King of the Jews.” As Jesus repeatedly reminds us, especially in John’s gospel, the commandments or laws of Jesus’s kingdom are not based on keeping order or expanding power, but instead on love (see John 13:34-35; John 14:15-31; John 15:9-19). And not just on loving God, but on loving each other.

In our world today, we remain adrift, bereft, cynical, and weary. Just like Pilate, we often try to preserve our own empires, our own edifices and walls that we tell ourselves are there for our protection and security. But really, those empires and walls just block out the light, hope, and peace that Jesus, in offering himself to us, offers to the entire world. No exceptions.

One of the key signs that one lives under the oppressive heat of empire is realizing that the values of the powers and principalities depends upon fabrication, defamation, and subterfuge. Injustice prevails by convincing the comfortable that if they dare push back against the injustice, they will only succeed in being at the mercy of the unmerciful. It is not for nothing that one of the ancient pseudonyms for Satan is “the Prince of Lies.” We spend too much of our lives in a kingdom of calumny, and empire of evasion, a realm of revilement, a principality of prevarication. Jesus offers us true freedom, if only we can let go of the fear that causes us to go along to get along.

One of my favorite TV shows is Ted Lasso. In one episode, a smart therapist repeats this mantra: “The truth will set you free. But first, it will [tick] you off.”

Jesus’s truth is not of this variety, though it certainly seeks to set us free. Jesus’s truth is stated earlier when Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” Beyond any earthly maneuvers for power, for exploitation, or for domination, this truth will set you free, and give you life and joy and community. That’s the truth of Jesus’s life. He calls us to be the very best versions of ourselves because he knows that is how we were made to be all along. He has faith in us, and calls us to have faith in ourselves that a better way is possible, through the loving, healing, restoring touch of Christ within our inmost being.

This is the truth to which Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection testify: God is love, and those who follow the Way of Jesus walk and live and move in and through and out of love for God but also, and this is the harder part, being animated to live and breathe and speak love for each other. Especially those we believe are outside our comfort zone.

The Way of Jesus was a threat to the power and empires of the world. Yet, periodically, Jesus’s followers have been tempted to claim that Jesus’s kingdom IS of this world, to claim that Jesus loves the same few people he loves and hates the same people we fear or despise. But Jesus is not about power, but service.

As St. Paul insisted over and over again, Jesus emptied himself of all the privilege and power he had had since the beginning of time in order to enter the world as the weakest thing of all: a tiny baby born to a poor mother in a backwater not many people could find on a map, even today. Jesus represents the power of love, the power of trust. And I’m not sure that’s any less rebellious today than it was 2000 years ago.

Do we dare allow Jesus to reign in our hearts in such a radical, incredible way? Do we dare transform ourselves into disciples who celebrate Christ’s kingdom of love and compassion and healing?

It starts with witnessing to the truth, alongside our savior and sovereign.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on November 18, 2021. 

Serving Jesus in Everyone: Sermon for the Feast of Christ the King, Year A

In 2013, a piece of artwork based on our gospel passage was installed outside Regis College, the Jesuit School of Theology at the University of Toronto. But its journey there had not been straightforward.

It started when Canadian sculptor and devout Catholic Timothy Schmalz was creating meditating upon the passage “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did to me.”

And so, he began the work, and cast his first bronze of his piece. It depicted a life-sized park bench, about 8 or 9 feet long. On one end of it, with room for another person to sit down on the other end, is a human figure, huddled under a blanket drawn up like a cloak, no hands or face visible, lying on its side. The only part of the actual body visible are the feet, sticking out from under the blanket, bare. Two open wounds are visible on the center of the feet, gaping open slightly. The statue is called “Homeless Jesus.”

Casts of this statue have now been installed on five continents, including one in Capernaum in the Holy Land. One has been installed in Rome outside the Papal Office of Charities, where, when Pope Francis encountered it in 2016, he touched its knee, closed his eyes, and prayed.

But what is interesting is how people have reacted to this statue. Ironically, the first two cathedrals that were offered the statue, one in Canada and one in New York, both turned it down. It was too controversial. It was too shocking. They claimed that ongoing renovations prevented them from installing artwork.

When an Episcopal parish in North Carolina became the first home for a cast of the statue in the US, a neighbor wrote an angry letter, while another person in town called police, thinking that the person on the bench was real. Others complained that depicting Jesus as a homeless person was insulting to Jesus, and damaged the neighborhood esthetic. But the priest at St. Alban’s, Davidson, says that most people now who see the statue sit down on the bench alongside Jesus, place a hand on his feet, and pray.

Jesus, who admitted he had no place to lay his head, rejected by people for revealing who he is. Where have we heard that before? Two mighty cathedrals, rejecting an image of Jesus that isn’t an idealized one—but that may be actually a whole lot closer to the truth of who Jesus is and remains for us today. A Jesus who was put to death by empire because his message of love was dangerous to the forces of fear.

It may seem disconcerting, to say the least, on the day we celebrate his reign on earth and the claim that he is King. However, if you listen to the readings in today's lectionary selection, perhaps it's not so surprising after all. All four of our readings talk about leadership and the right use of power, especially political power, with once again the word “political” being used in its best sense as referring to the good of the community.

Our reading from Ezekiel begins with the denouncement of unfaithful priests and kings, those who held religious and political power over the people. Here Ezekiel was doing the most dangerous work that a Prophet could do at the command of God --to denounce the leaders. This is what usually got profits killed, to be honest. And Ezekiel spares no details in the verses before our reading today, listing a long line of offenses: they gorge in themselves while the people starve, taking the best and leaving the scraps answering the need for healing with harshness and cruelty. In fact, Ezekiel depicts the kings and priests as devouring those whom they were supposed to care for. Therefore, God has decided to step in and take charge of caring for the people, using the metaphor of God is the Good Shepherd That closely echoes Psalm 23.

In verse 16, God promises to feed both the weak and the oppressors with justice. Depending on where you stood, that promise was either comforting or ominous. The next verse makes it clear that God is judging between people who may look the same to the outward eye, but whose actions have brought either respite or rejection upon their heads.

In our gospel, one of my favorite passages from Matthew, the idea of comparison and judgment is carried forward, this time carried out by Jesus, sitting on his throne as the King of heaven. The subtitle that often accompanies this reading is the Judgment of the Nations. Once again, just like in our Ezekiel reading, we see a pastoral image, this time of sheep and goats. Jesus listeners would have known that in the Middle East it was a common practice to have the sheep and goats be together in one flock, since their grazing methods were complementary. But what we often don't understand when we hear this parable, in our North American context especially, is that in many parts of the world sheep and goats actually look incredibly similar, so much so that unless you can see their tails you might not be able to tell them apart.

In fact, mistaken identity plays a big role in this story. Jesus as King divides the flock in front of him not based on how they look, but based on what they have done --based on how they have embodied the gospel values that Jesus has been teaching throughout his life to his followers, even if they themselves may not have been able to identify as such. And what are those gospel values that Jesus expects his followers to fully embrace?

Feeding the hungry (for I was hungry and you gave me food,)

Giving water to those without it (I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,)

Welcoming strangers and refugees (I was a stranger and you welcomed me,)

Clothing those without clothing (I was naked and you gave me clothing,)

Caring for the sick and injured (I was sick and you took care of me,)

Visiting the imprisoned rather than denigrating them as being subhuman for being “criminals” (I was in prison and you visited me.)

When Jesus separates the righteous and praises them, inviting them to enter into the Kingdom of heaven, you'll notice that even the righteous are confused. Jesus claims that they have cared for him devotedly. The funny thing is, they don't remember any of that—at least not that they did it to Jesus. Likewise, Jesus denounces the unrighteous for ignoring him.

The unrighteous likewise claim to have not seen Jesus anywhere before. That’s when Jesus makes it clear. They expect Jesus to look like them, talk like them, and judge like them. But God’s justice is not based on human ideas of respectability. God’s justice is grounded in restoring hope to the hopeless and love to the supposedly unlovable.

The righteous are willing to care for others, without any thought of what’s in it for them, even when they think no one’s looking. The unrighteous see no one outside themselves that don’t deserve their troubles, and so do nothing to alleviate the suffering that swirls all around them, if only they care to acknowledge it. If there’s nothing in it for them but time and expense, they are not interested. Even with their noses buried in scripture, their hearts have not been changed by Jesus’s call not just to belief, but to transformation.

For the last three weeks, we've been listening to part of Jesus’s discourse about the end of times and his eventual return, while in our epistles we've been hearing the disappointed hopes of those in the church in Thessalonica who thought that Jesus would return in their lifetimes. Now however Jesus makes a startling claim one that is intensely relevant for us today: Jesus has been here all along. There is no need to wait for a second coming. Jesus is present right now among the most marginalized and despised of people.

Once again, it is glaringly obvious that Jesus doesn't demand any statement of belief in order to be welcomed and celebrated as being faithful. The sheep don’t get claimed because they can recite creeds without crossing their fingers behind the back, or detail how many sacraments there are, or what exactly happens to the bread and the wine when it is consecrated. In fact, in bringing all the nations before Jesus for judgment, there would be plenty who had never heard of Jesus or ascribed to Jesus’s teachings. Nonetheless, they are celebrated for having served God if they have done those works of mercy and compassion that have sought to alleviate suffering in real and tangible, even if small, ways.

What's in your head is not important. What's in your heart most certainly is. And it is with your heart that you can see Jesus in every person, no matter how desperate, or despised, or degraded. In fact, Jesus specifically aligns himself as a king with those who are outcast by all decent folk.

Throughout the gospels Jesus makes it clear that the kingdom of God is within us, even those of us who are not exactly sure who Jesus is, and even those who are much too certain that Jesus is just like them, all buttoned-down and respectable. Serving Jesus in everyone around us—especially among the despised—reminds us of the immediacy of our work.

Bringing Jesus’s kingdom into being here and now is the call of discipleship. The question is, can we really embrace the beauty of the kingdom, knowing that it’s not going to be like a garden party?

God’s kingdom is about generosity, grace, and mercy. It rejects the calculus of “law and order” that insists that the denigrated deserve their fate.

Therefore, we create the kingdom when we feed the hungry and gave a drink to the thirsty, when we clothe those who are cold and naked, when we comfort the sick without worrying we will expose ourselves, and visit the imprisoned rather than justify their deaths even for petty disobedience.

We create the kingdom when we acted as if we saw Jesus in the exact people too many of claim to be “broken” or unworthy of dignity or compassion. We are called to serve our king the convict, our king the refugee, our beggar king huddling for shelter.

The kingdom of heaven is also not centered upon our own personal salvation. Making Christ our king means letting love and caritas rule our hearts. Once we accept Jesus as our Lord and king, we are not done. Making a choice to save ourselves is easy. That is why true salvation lies in what we do for others rather than what we do for ourselves by clinging to Jesus like a lifeline. As we are reminded, if we want to save our lives, we must be willing to look beyond ourselves. Proclaiming Jesus’ name will not bring about the kingdom of heaven—living out Jesus’ love among our fellow beings will bring about the kingdom of heaven and show that Jesus is our king. We acknowledge our king not by words but through what we do and how we serve him in each other.

Amen.

Preached at the 10:30 online service at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO in time of coronavirus.

Readings:

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
Psalm 100
Ephesians 1:15-23
Matthew 25:31-46

Prayer, day 2857: Last Sunday After Pentecost (Christ the King)

Lord Jesus Christ,
we bow before You
and offer you our humble praise
for Your countless blessings in our lives.
Reign over us and remake our hearts, O Savior,
that we may follow you wherever you lead us,
and joyfully bear your gospel into the world.
Give us the wisdom and will
to acknowledge you, O Holy One,
as our teacher, model, and guide,
that we may plant our feet firmly
in the path of justice and peace.
Supported by your grace and mercy,
may we serve You with faithfulness
and be a blessing to others, Mighty Counselor,
standing alongside the oppressed, the poor, and the marginalized,
the stranger and the seeker.
Prince of Peace, grant your healing
to all those in need,
and your blessing to all those we now name,
as we humbly pray.

Amen.

The Beggar King: Speaking to the Soul, November 19, 2020

In 1925, the fires of World War 1 still smoldered in the memory of those who had lived through it. And yet, even with the memory of the suffering and destruction still vivid in the minds of millions on three continents, nationalism and fascism began to arise in Europe, political movements who sought to gain power by dividing people into victors and vanquished, that sought to claim the right to empire and oppression as the natural order for humanity.

Movements that sought to enslave or eliminate entire races of people based on hatred and fear. Movements that sought to co-opt the church, as in Italy and Germany, and blaspheme God by aligning God with national interests, serving human purposes. It was the continuation of the struggle between good and evil, fueled by technologies of death and worship of might over right unimaginable in human history up to that point.

It was in this context that the Feast of Christ the King was first proclaimed, and has continued to be observed annually. It is a feast that calls us to remember whose, exactly, we are, and the real power to which we owe our allegiance. It also reminds us how easy it is to be coopted into serving our own desires dressed up as true belief, to deify ourselves and our conception of power or human hierarchies. This feast was also established to remind us to identify and resist any attempt to divide us from God and from each other in pursuit of human political agendas.

The image of a king here in America is inevitably tainted by our last brush as being subject to one, an image that fills many of us with a mixture of repugnance and mockery, especially after we have watched Jonathan Groff strut around in heels singing “You’ll be back” as the delusional King George III in Hamilton. We treasure our autonomy and independence above all things. We don’t want someone telling us that, “when push comes to shove, I will send a fully-armed battalion to remind you of my love.”

But Christ’s reign in our hearts is founded upon entreaty rather than command. Proclaiming Christ as our King is a jubilant, grateful response to God’s plea to allow see ourselves as God’s own beloveds, as Psalm 100 reminds us, and to give thanks for God’s gifts of the good things in creation to bring us joy and a deep abiding sense of well-being.

But where and what is this kingdom? Throughout the gospels Jesus makes it clear that the kingdom of God is within us, and bringing it into fruition is our responsibility. And indeed, the gospel reading for this Sunday of Christ the King tells us the same thing: we created the kingdom when we fed the hungry and gave a drink to the thirsty, when we clothed those who were cold and naked, when we comforted the sick or the imprisoned. When we acted as if we saw Jesus in the exact people too many of claim to be “broken” or unworthy of dignity or compassion. Rather we are called to serve our king the convict, our king the refugee, our beggar king huddling for shelter.

It is also clear: the geography of this kingdom lies upon and within our hearts. The kingdom over which Jesus reigns is not in a place or in a time just as God does not exist within the boundaries of space or time. Jesus is God’s physical presence within space and time, within our understanding of the universe. Jesus’ power as king does not come from compulsion, or force, or power as earthly kings wield, but through the power of love and through example. Jesus’ power as king over our lives is not the power of demand but the power of love. We follow Christ and obey Christ through the choice of our will, which is what the root of the word, “voluntarily,” means.

The kingdom of heaven is also not centered upon our own personal salvation. Making Christ our king means letting love and caritas rule our hearts. Once we accept Jesus as our Lord and king, we are not done. Making a choice to save ourselves is easy. That is why true salvation lies in what we do for others rather than what we do for ourselves by clinging to Jesus like a lifeline. As we are reminded, if we want to save our lives, we must be willing to look beyond ourselves. Proclaiming Jesus’ name will not bring about the kingdom of heaven—living out Jesus’ love among our fellow beings will bring about the kingdom of heaven and show that Jesus is our king. We acknowledge our king not by words but through deeds.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on November 19, 2020.

Prayer 2490: For the Feast of Christ the King

Lord Jesus Christ,
we bow before You
and offer you our humble praise
for Your countless blessings in our lives.

Reign over us and remake our hearts, O Savior,
that we may follow you wherever you lead us,
and joyfully bear your gospel into the world.
Give us the wisdom and will
to acknowledge you, O Holy One,
as our teacher, model, and guide,
that we may plant our feet firmly
in the path of justice and peace.
Supported by your grace and mercy,
may we serve You with faithfulness
and be a blessing to others, Mighty Counselor,
standing alongside the oppressed, the poor, and the marginalized,
the stranger and the seeker.

Prince of Peace, grant your healing
to all those in need,
and your blessing to all those we now name,
as we humbly pray.

Amen.

The Truth Before Us-- Sermon for Christ the King Sunday, Year B (Last After Pentecost)

In 1925, the fires of World War 1 still smoldered in the memory of those who had lived through it. And yet, even with the memory of the suffering and destruction still vivid in the minds of millions on three continents, nationalism and fascism began to arise in Europe, political movements who sought to gain power by dividing people into victors and vanquished, that sought to claim the right to empire and oppression as the natural order for humanity.

Movements that sought to enslave or eliminate entire races of people based on hatred and fear. Movements that sought to co-opt the church, as in Italy and Germany, and blaspheme God by aligning God with national interests, serving human purposes. It was the continuation of the struggle between good and evil, fueled by technologies of death and worship of might over right unimaginable in human history up to that point.

It was in this context that the Feast of Christ the King was first proclaimed. It is a feast that calls us to remember whose, exactly, we are, and the real power to which we owe our allegiance. In our gospel today, Jesus is handed over to the power of empire, and resists its claim of dominance. Jesus literally speaks truth to power in our gospel today. Governments rise and fall, because they are the works of human invention, but the reign of Christ is eternal.

Our gospel today consists of three questions from Pilate as he examines Jesus. Let’s look at the actual statements of Jesus in our gospel. First of all, Jesus does not answer a single one of Pilate’s three questions:

Pilate:
Are you the King of the Jews?

Jesus:

Do you ask this on your own,

or did others tell you about me? 

I am not a Jew, am I?...
What have you done?

My kingdom is not from this world…. 

So you are a king?

You say that I am….

I am a witness to truth.

Unfortunately, our gospel left out Pilate’s final question, what I think to be the most important question of all from this exchange. When Jesus claims to be witness to the truth, Pilate turns away. What is truth? Pilate cynically scoffs.

Thinking about Jesus’s claim to be a testifier to the truth brought back one of my favorite memories from the travels I have taken in my life. A few years ago, my middle daughter and I went to Barcelona with my good friends who are her godparents. One of the biggest highlights of that trip was our visit to the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia—Holy Family Basilica, the work of the great architect Antony Gaudi.

This huge church has been under construction for well over a century, and is still not finished. Its main entrance focuses on the Holy Family and the birth of Jesus. Inside represents Jesus's life and ministry all lit by glorious windows the color of gemstones. The roof is held up by huge columns designed as stylized tree trunks. It's spectacular and palpably holy.

But on the other side of the Basilica, the story of Jesus’s Passion is told. And one of the most striking details that caught my eye, among the myriad of details present, was a copper panel with this phrase written in gold: “Que es la veritat?” “What is truth?” Pilate’s question hangs right there on the side of the outer wall, and if you raise your eyes from there, you see the crucifixion scene. There you see the God who loves us enough to become one of us to redeem us and reconcile us to the dream God has for us.

What is truth?

That very question hangs over our society today as powerfully as it did 2000 years ago. We live in what some people are calling a post-religious era. We live in a post-modern world that denies the authority of anything outside of our own personal experiences. We live in a time when lies and gaslighting are the coin of the realm, the foundation of an empire of individualism that tears at the very fabric of communities. The empire in which we live is an empire built on exploitation of weakness, hatred of the other, and the denial of the sacredness of life and creation. What IS truth, indeed?

As a servant of the Roman empire posted to one of the most dusty corners of it, I imagine Pilate has seen enough of the world to know that history is often written by the victors, by the powerful. And Jesus’s kingdom is based on anything BUT that kind of oppression.

Jesus admits that he has followers—and in other places he calls them friends, and even family. Kings don’t have followers—they have subjects. Kings hold their power by force of arms and by fighting, as Jesus notes—and Jesus rejects that kind of kingship. Further, as we are reminded by our first reading being about David’s assessment of his reign, kings often claim that God is like them, rather than them being like God: notice that David calls God “the Strong One of Israel.”

We are all prone to do this, to be honest: make God in our own image as a way of resisting the obligations being made in the image of God places upon us.

In Israel’s history, the demand of the people to have a king is actually a rejection of God’s reign over them. The Hebrew scriptures make it clear that a king’s priorities are supposed to be God’s priorities, since a king rules over the people in place of God. And yet the three kings we hear of in 1 and 2 Samuel all fail to do that, and instead fulfill the prophecy Samuel had warned them about: they take the things of others, and tax the people for their building projects and their wars, and grab their daughters for their harems, and conscript the sons of Israel into their armies  so that they may at the least defend and usually so that they can wage war to expand their territories.

Pilate represents a great empire—one of many who had swallowed up Israel at one time or another. Asking Jesus if he is a king is Pilate’s way of determining if Jesus is setting himself up as a political challenger to the power of Rome. Jesus has been handed over by the religious authorities because they KNOW that he is a threat to their power, yet they do not have the power to put Jesus to death. Jesus avoids the trap they have laid for him that would have made him a rebel against Rome.

Jesus makes it clear, however. Jesus’s kingdom is not geographically limited to a certain place, or even a certain people, which may be why he refuses to call himself the “King of the Jews.” As Jesus repeatedly reminds us, especially in John’s gospel, the commandments or laws of Jesus’s kingdom are not based on keeping order or expanding power, but instead on love. Love of God, and love of each other. 

In our world today, we are adrift, bereft, cynical, and weary. Just like Pilate, we often try to preserve our own empires, our own edifices and walls that we tell ourselves are there for our protection and security. But really, those empires and walls just block out the light, hope, and peace that Jesus, in offering himself to us, offers to the entire world. No exceptions.

What is truth? We, like Pilate, ask this, often from either cynicism or its cousin, heartbreak. Often we try to find substitutes that will take the place of truth in our lives-- possessions, distractions, or experiences. We believe that we can set ourselves up as the final arbiter of truth, when we don’t even know what truth is. But just like with Pilate, truth is right before us. Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” And beyond any earthly maneuvers for power, for exploitation, or for domination, this truth will set you free, and give you life and joy and community.

That’s the truth of Jesus’s life. He calls us to be the very best versions of ourselves because he knows that is how we were made to be all along. He has faith in us, and calls us to have faith in ourselves that a better way is possible, through the loving, healing, restoring touch of Christ within our inmost being. This is the truth to which Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection testify: God is love, and those who follow the Way of Jesus walk and live and move in and through and out of love for God but also, and this is the harder part, being animated to live and breathe and speak love for each other. Especially those we may think are outside our comfort zone.

The Way of Jesus was a threat to the power and empires of the world. Yet, periodically, Jesus’s followers have been tempted to claim that Jesus’s kingdom IS of this world, to claim that Jesus loves the same few people we love and hates the same people we fear or despise. But Jesus is not about power, but about service. As Paul insisted over and over again, Jesus emptied himself of all the privilege and power he had had since the beginning of time in order to enter the world as the weakest thing of all: a tiny baby born to a poor teenaged mother in a backwater not many people could find on a map, even today. Jesus represents the power of love, the power of trust. And I’m not sure that’s any less rebellious today than it was 2000 years ago.

Do we dare allow Jesus to reign in our hearts in such a radical, incredible way? Do we dare transform ourselves into disciples who celebrate Christ’s kingdom of love and compassion and healing? Jesus makes it clear that he is not a king of a kingdom on Earth. Jesus is king in the kingdom of God. Jesus calls to us—“Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling, O sinner, come home…..” as the old hymn my grandmother loved goes.

Come home to true love, to a life whose only rule is to love each other as we love ourselves.

Come home to compassion for those whose terror drives them from all that they have known to seek refuge and shelter.

Come home to our own humanity, shrouded for far too long in fear, in anxiety, in a restless suspicion that our hope lies beyond the scramble we too often get sucked into.

The geography of this kingdom lies upon and within our hearts. Jesus’ throne is not built from compulsion, or force, or power as earthly kings wield, but through the power of love and calling us to take very seriously his call to follow in his example so that we may together live our very best life, one of peace and plenty for all, one that rejects the fears and divisions of this world. Jesus’ power as king over our lives is not the power of demand, but the power of love.

We follow Christ and obey Christ through the choice of love. Making Christ our king means letting love and caritas rule our hearts. Once we accept Jesus as our Lord and king, we are not done. Making a choice to save ourselves is easy. That is why true salvation lies in what we do for others rather than what we do for ourselves by clinging to Jesus like a lifeline. Merely proclaiming Jesus’ name will not bring about the kingdom of heaven—living out Jesus’ love among our fellow beings will bring about the kingdom of heaven and show that Jesus is our king. We acknowledge our king not by words but through deeds—through giving him the throne of our hearts and being his healing, reconciling hand in the world.

Amen.

Preached at the 505 on November 24, and the 8:00 and 10:15 Eucharists on November 25, 2018, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:
2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-19
Revelation 1 :4b-8
John 18:33-37

Images:
1) Christ the King icon, unknown.
2) Hitler Youth saluting.
3) The light in La Sagrada Familia, photo mine, May, 2015.
4) Detail from a copper panel on the Passion side of La Sagrada Familia, photo mine, May, 2015.
5) Jesus before Pilate, detail from the Passion side of La Sagrada Familia, photo mine, May 2015.
6) Christus Rex, unknown.

Prayer 2128: Last Sunday After Pentecost (Christ the King)

God of Mercy, Grace, and Love,
Creator of All,
we gather before your altars to praise You,
and open our hearts to be filled with your compassion.

Renew within us a Spirit of Healing,
and a thirst for justice and true peace,
we humbly pray,
that we may remember our charge
to be intruments of hope and change for good.
May we invite You, Lord Christ,
to rule our wills and minds
that we may be transformed by your gospel,
gentled and restored by your loving embrace,
renewed in love and purity of heart.
May we walk in love and companionship with all creation,
and care for each other as You care for us, O Savior.

Consecrate us with the oil of gladness and fellowship,
O Holy Trinity, O Sacred One,
and grant your peace and benediction to all,
especially those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Of Lions, Mice, Sheep, and Goats: Sermon for the Feast of Christ the King, Year A

Readings:
Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
Psalm 100
Ephesians 1:15-23
Matthew 25:31-46

When I was a kid, growing up in a working class family, we didn’t have a lot of money, but my mother knew I loved reading, and she was great at snagging bargains at library clearance sales. So I grew up with some classic literature: Tasha Tudor’s Fairy Tales, which were way weirder than the Disney versions. Mother Goose’s Nursery Rhymes. Norse Mythology. A children’s Bible. An illustrated version of Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. And a book of ancient Greek fables and myths.

I especially liked the fables by Aesop. If you’ve never heard of Aesop, he was supposedly a Greek slave, possibly from Ethiopia or Nubia in Africa, who lived perhaps five or six centuries before Christ. Aesop told short little stories with talking animals as the main characters, supposedly to educate his owner’s children. There are a half-dozen versions of each of his fables—some of them are even in poetic verse! Each brief story ended with a moral, which is where the phrase “the moral of the story…” comes from.

One of my favorite stories was the tale of the Lion and the Mouse. It goes like this:

One warm summer day, a Lion lay asleep in the forest, his great head resting on his paws. A timid little Mouse came upon him unexpectedly, and in her fright and haste to get away, ran straight across the Lion’s nose. Roused from his nap with a mighty roar, the Lion slapped his huge paw angrily on the wee timorous beastie’s tail, and prepared to squash her into mouse-jelly.

“Spare me, O Mighty Lion!” begged the poor Mouse. “Let me go, if you please-- and someday, I will surely repay you.”

The Lion laughed at the idea that a Mouse could ever help him. But he was feeling generous, and also eager to get back to his nap, and so at last he decided to let the Mouse go.

Some days later, while stalking his prey in the forest, the Lion was caught in the snare of a hunter’s net. No matter how much he pulled at the ropes, he could not break free, and indeed, the more he struggled with his impressive strength, the more he caused the ropes to get tighter and tighter and tighter. Finally, enraged and helpless, unable to free himself, he filled the forest with his angry roaring.

The Mouse knew that voice—had experienced it up close and personal, in fact—and she scampered back to find the Lion struggling in the net. Running to one of the great ropes that bound him, she gnawed it with her tiny, sharp teeth, until the strands snapped, and soon the Lion was free.

“You laughed when I said I would repay you,” said the Mouse. “Now you see that even a lowly, tiny Mouse can help a free a mighty Lion.”

The Moral of the Story: A kindness is never wasted.

Or, as Jefferys Taylor put it in his poetic version, which helped remind me of today’s gospel, the moral goes like this:

Few are so small, or weak, I guess,
But may assist us in distress;
Nor shall we ever, if we’re wise,
The meanest, or the least, despise.


Jesus, likewise, uses animals in his parable today that closes out his final discourse in Matthew’s gospel—although in this case, the animals do not speak, and a real king appears, not just the King of the Jungle, but the Messiah, the Son of Humanity who has and will come in glory to fulfill the heavenly kingdom for which we hope as Christians.

That word “king” is important. At the start of Israel as a kingdom, their kings were described very differently than were the kings of their neighbors. Israel’s original kings, although certainly great warriors, were not just described as being powerful, mighty, or fearsome. The kings of Israel were to act as the servants of God, and to take care of the people and their needs—they were often described as “shepherds,” which is a lowly and humble term about as far from the pomp and circumstance of a king as one could get. Kings were supposed to take care of the weak, the orphaned, the poor. In Jesus’s story, that’s the kind of a king we see—one who identifies with the poor, the outcast, and the imprisoned so much that he speaks of them as his very own family. And he calls us to do the same as his disciples.

Matthew 25 describes the kind of king we claim on this Feast of Christ the King, and the kind of glorious kingdom that is our heritage and our responsibility, if we are to be true disciples of Christ. It also provides examples of what activities and concerns shape the Christian life.

Now, I learned something interesting this week: in some parts of the world, such as in Israel and Palestine, the sheep and the goats actually look a LOT alike. So much alike, that Heifer International, which I believe this parish has worked with, has a quiz online to see if you can tell which creatures are goats, and which are sheep. I only got three out of the first five pictures right when I took that quiz, and I am not exactly unfamiliar with animals of the barnyard variety.

Sheep or goats? Depends on how they act....

Likewise, it can be impossible to tell who the sheep and the goats are today. Instead we have to remember that the king in Jesus’s story looked to the actions to reveal the heart. Lucky for us, those actions are spelled out here. The actions that led the Son of Humanity to separate the sheep from the goats were grounded in very specific, relational responses:

Food (for I was hungry and you gave me food,)
Water (I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,)
Welcome (I was a stranger and you welcomed me,)
Clothing (I was naked and you gave me clothing,)
Caring and healing (I was sick and you took care of me,)
Visiting the imprisoned (I was in prison and you visited me.)

We’re given the strongest possible reminder to be hospitable and generous with our resources, attention, and actual presence with people, regardless of who they are. For we worship a Savior who proclaims that everyone can be healed by the power of love, if they so choose. It’s up to us to put that love before them, without questions of what’s in it for us or whether they “deserve” it.

Both Aesop’s story and Jesus’s teaching show us that we shouldn’t only be decent to those whom we think are able to do something in return for us. Jesus’s teaching here takes it further: we are not to divide ourselves up at all—that judgment is reserved for God alone. 

What we ARE called to do is examine ourselves, and love without calculation. We are to care for each other, because that is our calling as human beings, and especially as disciples of Jesus.

As familiar as the call to unity, compassion, empathy, and love in today’s gospel are to many Christians today, we certainly see a lot of resistance at times to their enactment. Yet Jesus makes it clear that he himself is among the “least of these”—whom he names as “members of my family” to be even more clear.

Thirteen times in this gospel, Jesus has the king say “I” or “me” when talking about those who are hungry, thirsty, naked, homeless, sick, or imprisoned.

Thirteen times he tells us that HE is every refugee, standing with hungry mouth open, suffering written all over his beautiful, holy face as long as one person in this world undergoes any of those hardships. He is there behind the bars with every prisoner, and doesn’t ask us to divide those prisoners into those who are worthy and those who are not. That kind of sorting leads to being labeled a goat.

Yet, again, this parable makes it clear that WE don’t get to decide who the sheep are, and who the goats are. Only God decides that. Because we who been redeemed believe in the hope of redemption for all, we also know that even goats can become sheep, if they so choose. No matter what, it’s not up to US to decide who is worthy or not. It’s up to us just to love and care for each other in all our flaws and need for forgiveness and grace.

That word “family” is critical here: once again--and boy, is that repetition necessary-- we are shown that the Christian life is a life lived in relationship with each other. Family is more than just the people to whom we are tied by blood, as many of us were reminded at Thanksgiving. Instead, the Christian family is found and formed in a life of caring and connection, of empathy and generosity, dedicated to relieving, in concrete actions, suffering, isolation, and want. This Christian family we join when we declare our faith in Jesus is guided by compassion, even when—especially when-- sometimes we disappoint each other.

As members of the family of God, we are called to not step over the fallen but help them up as we ourselves have been helped up by loving hands again and again, if we are honest. The life those Christian sheep are called to embody is a life of common purpose and meaning, a life rooted in true love and joy in a community that takes care of each other. In other words, exactly what so many people are hungering for in our world today. And it’s up to us to make that world, as Christ’s own beloveds in the world.

Biblical scholar Stanley Saunders states that Matthew means for the values expressed here to bookend with the Beatitudes in Matthew 5:1-12. Together they create an arc of qualities and actions that are foundational for the “Kingdom of Heaven” over which Jesus will reign. Even asking the question of WHO the marginalized were that the goats/accursed ignored makes you a goat, according to Saunders, because goats’ only interest is in themselves.

In Jesus’s time as well as now, the values of society were strictly regulated to support segregation by class, wealth, citizenship, and privilege. You curried the favor of those who could help you rise in the ancient system, and you ignored those who were deemed inferior to you. You certainly didn’t go out of your way to help those who could be of no help to you.

In Aesop’s tale, it was easy to tell who had the power, and who didn’t: Great big Lion, the “King” of the Jungle; little tiny Mouse, who spent her days scavenging and scraping out a living eating other creatures’ scraps more often than not. In Jesus’s story, sheep and goats both have the opportunity to help where they see a need. But one thing that separates the sheep from the goats is the ability to see the need right in front of them at all, and to answer that need joyfully.

Food, shelter, clothing to those without it. Sharing with those who are marginalized, oppressed or despised without concern for whether they “deserve” it or not, and without condemnation—even “throwaway” people in our culture, such as the imprisoned, convicts, criminals—however you want to call them. And the really hard one: loving each other and being gentle with each other, choosing grace and mercy. Leaving the judging of others to God in the name of evaluating our own lives, and offering God our all, as our psalm reminds us.

One lesson both stories tell us is to never write anyone off—not even those we think might be goats. Jesus’s story draws that even more sharply into focus by making that willingness to write people off not just “wrong,” but a sin that cuts us off from being able to enjoy the heavenly banquet we all long for. But how do we tell the difference?

In Aesop’s fable, the question was, how do we tell who has the power, and who doesn’t? In Jesus’s parable, the question was, how do we tell who has a heart, and who doesn’t? We can’t tell by looking.

The answer is simple: we know by the actions. All of the Lion’s strength meant nothing without the tiny Mouse’s teeth. The sheep who do the will of the shepherd don’t stop to ask, “What’s in it for me?” Instead, they engage in the necessary, practical, joyous work of tending to the Jesus that shines out of every single person they encounter. They keep going in this work even when the shepherd is out of sight, because the shepherd has shown and continues to show us the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

They act in response to suffering because that is what Jesus has modeled for us again and again. We have been commissioned and blessed to take up this work together both inside these church doors and out there in our secular lives, because Jesus isn’t just someone we think about on Sunday, but rather Jesus is what we DO out in the world to respond to need not with calculations but with compassion and mercy. As the song goes, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love.”

It’s the sheep who remember that everyone can be a blessing and a means of grace for others.
It’s the sheep who worship God not just in God’s courts, as our psalm called us, but throughout the world we inhabit, where there are too many of the family of God suffering.
It’s the sheep who are humble enough to know the gift of reconciliation that we ourselves have received, and will continue to receive whether we ourselves are always worthy of it or not.
It’s the sheep who are called to love without calculation of benefit or superiority.
It’s the sheep who sing out in their actions the real moral of the story:

Few are so small, or weak, I guess,
But may assist us in distress;
Nor shall we ever, if we’re wise,
The meanest, or the least, despise.

For whether we are sheep or goats, lions or mice,
We are all the bearers of the face, hands, and heart of Christ.

Amen.

Sermon for the Last Sunday After Pentecost, Feast of the Christ the King, preached at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, on November 26, 2017.