What kind of King?
The Reign of Christ (or Christ the King)
Colossians 1.11-20; Luke 23.33-43
He was a man who at the age of 20 was full of love for Jesus—so certain of his own dedication, so animated by his faith. And so certain of his vocation to the ordained ministry of his church. A man of great enthusiasm for the Lord. A Christian unmistakably.
I got to know him some 15 years later. He was still a person of enthusiasm and drive—but now his enthusiasm was for pornography. He rejoiced at being known as the bloke on the estate where he lived who could be called on for explicit, ‘raunchy’ he would call them, films. He was porno-king on his little estate, and he was never seen in church.
Don’t let me give you the wrong impression; Charles didn’t abandon his faith in favour of sex movies. No, there
had been umpteen things in the meantime: cooking, cordon bleu of course; model making, models as big as your front room—hours, months, years of effort—but of no value to him once the enthusiasm waned. When I knew him he was into citizens’ band radio—and he was certainly into it, gadgets, jargon, aerials sticking out of everywhere!
A man of enthusiasms. I’m sure there will have been many more in the years since I last saw him. The videos,
the CB radio, the models, the cordon bleu cooking, will all have gone the way of the Christian enthusiasm.
Is Charlie so different from any of us? His tastes in their more perverse manifestations not ours; but the wavering,
wandering commitment, the soon past enthusiasms, is common enough. One way or another, we are a fickle people, though we like to pretend we are not.
The palm strewn entry into Jerusalem seemed like a triumph. Robes and cloaks carpeting the road. A crowd in front and a crowd behind. A popular leader for the mob. ‘The whole multitude … began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice … saying, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!"’ Enthusiasm, yes; understanding, no. Enthusiasm soon
became condemnation, blessing turned to shouts of “Crucify.” ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are
doing.’
They didn’t understand. Once the crowd had wanted to make Jesus king by popular uprising. He was quite clear what
that meant—he had to send the disciples away and dismiss the crowd. No easy task I’m sure, because their blood was up.
Those close to him didn’t understand either. When Peter announced Jesus as the Messiah, Jesus had to assert with all the vehemence at his command that he was not a Messiah of war but a Messiah of service and suffering.
What kind of king? That was the question. His answer meant death, condemned as a terrorist, though no one
believed it was true. Evidence was twisted and politicians conspired to discredit and remove a leader whom they feared. And so he died. No one came to save him.
What kind of king? That’s the question to us. That’s the reason, of course, behind this Feast of Christ the King—a day instituted by Pope Pius XI in 1925, an era of rising Fascism, as a marker against uncontrolled human power. ‘Christ the King’ is to my mind a rather difficult title now since ours is a world radically changed from 1925. One sub-editor I used to work with would never let the expression ‘Kingdom of God’ remain in any manuscript I sent her. As a feminist, she always, but always, changed ‘kingdom’ to ‘reign’ or ‘rule’.
What kind of king? That’s the question. Was Jesus’answer mistaken? He is the Prince of Peace who gives himself
into the clutches of violent people with no hint of retaliation or evasion. Many, many think his way foolish. To the question, ‘Will force achieve change and bring about improvement?’ Many sincere people, many people of principle,
many people of faith have answered ‘yes’.
What kind of king? That’s the question, and it’s not just a political question, it touches the heart of our own faith: do we trust Jesus’ choice of messiahship? What we do and say so often suggests otherwise. Church communities are not generally marked by their difference from secular organizations. Power and self-interest too often appears to rule.
H.H. Farmer tells how, as a young man, he once preached on the love of God. After the service an old Polish Jew
who had become a Christian came up to him and said, ‘You should not preach on the love of God until you have seen, as I have seen, the blood of your dearest loved-ones flowing in the gutters on a gray winter’s morning.’ Farmer later
asked him how he could believe in the love of God after that. The old man replied that at first he could not. But then he came to see that he was faced with a choice. Either the cross was true and God’s love was real—or, he was left alone with total despair.
That’s the choice. What kind of king? Our enthusiasm if it is Christian faith will be a clinging to the cross. Our faith will be in a king who rode a donkey along a palm strewn way to a tortured death on a cross. The only power behind this throne is the power of self-giving love—that is the reign of Christ.
I got to know him some 15 years later. He was still a person of enthusiasm and drive—but now his enthusiasm was for pornography. He rejoiced at being known as the bloke on the estate where he lived who could be called on for explicit, ‘raunchy’ he would call them, films. He was porno-king on his little estate, and he was never seen in church.
Don’t let me give you the wrong impression; Charles didn’t abandon his faith in favour of sex movies. No, there
had been umpteen things in the meantime: cooking, cordon bleu of course; model making, models as big as your front room—hours, months, years of effort—but of no value to him once the enthusiasm waned. When I knew him he was into citizens’ band radio—and he was certainly into it, gadgets, jargon, aerials sticking out of everywhere!
A man of enthusiasms. I’m sure there will have been many more in the years since I last saw him. The videos,
the CB radio, the models, the cordon bleu cooking, will all have gone the way of the Christian enthusiasm.
Is Charlie so different from any of us? His tastes in their more perverse manifestations not ours; but the wavering,
wandering commitment, the soon past enthusiasms, is common enough. One way or another, we are a fickle people, though we like to pretend we are not.
The palm strewn entry into Jerusalem seemed like a triumph. Robes and cloaks carpeting the road. A crowd in front and a crowd behind. A popular leader for the mob. ‘The whole multitude … began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice … saying, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!"’ Enthusiasm, yes; understanding, no. Enthusiasm soon
became condemnation, blessing turned to shouts of “Crucify.” ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are
doing.’
They didn’t understand. Once the crowd had wanted to make Jesus king by popular uprising. He was quite clear what
that meant—he had to send the disciples away and dismiss the crowd. No easy task I’m sure, because their blood was up.
Those close to him didn’t understand either. When Peter announced Jesus as the Messiah, Jesus had to assert with all the vehemence at his command that he was not a Messiah of war but a Messiah of service and suffering.
What kind of king? That was the question. His answer meant death, condemned as a terrorist, though no one
believed it was true. Evidence was twisted and politicians conspired to discredit and remove a leader whom they feared. And so he died. No one came to save him.
What kind of king? That’s the question to us. That’s the reason, of course, behind this Feast of Christ the King—a day instituted by Pope Pius XI in 1925, an era of rising Fascism, as a marker against uncontrolled human power. ‘Christ the King’ is to my mind a rather difficult title now since ours is a world radically changed from 1925. One sub-editor I used to work with would never let the expression ‘Kingdom of God’ remain in any manuscript I sent her. As a feminist, she always, but always, changed ‘kingdom’ to ‘reign’ or ‘rule’.
What kind of king? That’s the question. Was Jesus’answer mistaken? He is the Prince of Peace who gives himself
into the clutches of violent people with no hint of retaliation or evasion. Many, many think his way foolish. To the question, ‘Will force achieve change and bring about improvement?’ Many sincere people, many people of principle,
many people of faith have answered ‘yes’.
What kind of king? That’s the question, and it’s not just a political question, it touches the heart of our own faith: do we trust Jesus’ choice of messiahship? What we do and say so often suggests otherwise. Church communities are not generally marked by their difference from secular organizations. Power and self-interest too often appears to rule.
H.H. Farmer tells how, as a young man, he once preached on the love of God. After the service an old Polish Jew
who had become a Christian came up to him and said, ‘You should not preach on the love of God until you have seen, as I have seen, the blood of your dearest loved-ones flowing in the gutters on a gray winter’s morning.’ Farmer later
asked him how he could believe in the love of God after that. The old man replied that at first he could not. But then he came to see that he was faced with a choice. Either the cross was true and God’s love was real—or, he was left alone with total despair.
That’s the choice. What kind of king? Our enthusiasm if it is Christian faith will be a clinging to the cross. Our faith will be in a king who rode a donkey along a palm strewn way to a tortured death on a cross. The only power behind this throne is the power of self-giving love—that is the reign of Christ.
