I didn’t grow up in a liturgical church. A “church calendar,” if there had been one, mostly just had Christmas and Easter on it, so “Christ the King Sunday” was something I learned about much later. In 1925, one of the popes, Pope Pius XI cemented this last Sunday before Advent begins as Christ the King Sunday on the church calendar. Parts of the church had celebrated it for centuries, but Pius wanted to ensure its annual observance. He felt that the rise of secularism, with its constant doubting of the authority (or even the existence) of God had created a crisis. Independence, individualism and a scorn for all authority needed a counterbalance, and Pius thought the celebration of Christ the King might provide just that.

Today, some of the church has deemed the concept of Christ “the King” as too outdated, too autocratic or too gender exclusive to have much value. I am going to risk your wrath this morning by suggesting that the many pictures scripture gives us of a “King” may be more valuable than ever for our faith.

Read John 18:33-40.

The great Danish philosopher and strong Christian, Soren Kierkegaard, used many parables in his work in the early 19 th century. In the interest of full disclosure I should point out that Kierkegaard’s work is usually several levels higher than my normal intellectual functions, so perhaps his parables are a good place to begin.

One of his most famous parables has been called The King and the Maiden. It is the story of a wealthy and powerful king who falls in love with a woman from among the common people of his kingdom.

The king wrestles over what to do with this dilemma. His concern is that he does not wish to be loved out of duty or obligation. Nor does he wish to coerce the woman into marriage by the power of his position as king. What he seeks is to woo her, to win her love purely and out of right motives. He does not want, by right of his own identity, to change her. Nor, Kierkegaard says, can the king simply do the fairy tale thing, put on a pauper’s clothes and win the woman’s love. For in the end, he would be guilty of deceiving her. The right conclusion, Kierkegaard seems to say, is for the king to actually become a common person, so that, if it happened, their love would be true and authentic.

Now, that sounds like a very wise king to me. And if someone like the good king in this parable was real, we might be open to his exercise of authority. But the fact is, he’s not real, and we’ve been burned too many times by real people. Teachers, principals, pastors, priests, coaches…presidents, senators, congressmen…every time we put our trust in someone who wields power, it seems that we are kicked in the stomach. These “authorities” seem to show up in the news on practically a daily basis as embezzlers, cheats, addicts, predators. How can we trust again? Power seems to poison the best of people.

Israel had to find out for herself. Our Old Testament text (I Samuel 8:4-22) told part of the story of how the very first king of Israel ever came into being. Israel at that point was a confederation of tribes, and it was a theocracy, governed in other words, by God and those whom God appointed to speak…like the prophets.

When the elders of Israel pressure Samuel to help them get a king, “like other nations have,” Samuel complains to God. But although God doesn’t seem surprised at the demand, he recognizes it for what it is; “they have rejected me from being king over them.” But he doesn’t say no, he only instructs Samuel to warn them of how high the cost will be, which he does. But the people are adamant…they want “to be like other nations,” and have a king.

And thus begins a rather sordid chapter in Israel’s history. It does become like other nations, it has a king. And God and Samuel are right. The story is the same everywhere, through many centuries. With a few notable exceptions, kings are arrogant, unjust, self-promoting, selfish and abusive with their power. The ancient concept of “the divine right of kings,” the idea that a monarch’s right to rule came directly from God, took a long, long time to die out and served to empower many a shallow tyrant.

But every once in awhile, a king would come along who was different enough, even for a short time…to bring hope.

King Solomon, for instance, loved the Lord, and when God asked him in a dream what he would request, Solomon didn’t ask for riches or fame or power. Instead he said “You have made me king, though I am only a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in…Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil.” (I Sam 3:7ff) That kind of heart pleased God.

Or there was King Josiah, at age 26, who ruled Israel when the book of the law was rediscovered, and read it and wept because his people had not kept the word of the Lord. And God said “because your heart was penitent… and you have humbled yourself before me, and have torn your clothes and wept before me, I also have heard you, says the Lord.”

Solomon and Josiah help point to the kinds of things that a good monarch could do:

• bring cohesiveness to the nation.
• give efficient administration for the people.
• (particularly important) give protection to all the people, and watching out especially for the weak, “the least of these,” those unable to do for themselves.

But most often, the kings of Israel made a total mess of things. And so did most kings and rulers down through history. Most wore their authority like a weapon, to get what they wanted. No wonder people are suspicious of authority. So maybe the kingship of God is indeed a concept that is so old and weighted down that it is no longer helpful. Or maybe people living in a democratic society should look at God differently.

Before we go there, though, before we toss out the whole concept of God-the-King as “unhelpful,” maybe we’d better consider the alternatives.

Should we use democracy as a model?

Remember that democracies are built on the fundamental belief that people are undependable, that there are check and balances to try and stop or at least limit a leader’s abuse, but even then history says too much power invites injustice. Should we look at God that way?

One writer said that replacing Christ the King Sunday with “Christ-as-democratically-elected-leader-Sunday” doesn’t have such a good ring to it. God as president or prime minister leads one to think that the Lord is as changeable as a popular vote.

Or maybe we should go with the postmodern thought of “whatever God picture works for you is the right one.”

But if instead we cling old-fashionedly to “Christ the King” we will need to look at some glimpses of Christ as an entirely different kind of king, according to the New Testament.

Picture Jesus, God’s Son, standing there on trial before the Roman governor Pilate, one of the last times Jesus will be able to remain on his feet. Pilate is concerned that Jesus presents a political challenge as a king. Because whatever else Pilate does or doesn’t know, he knows that there can be only one King. And if Jesus is the King, then Pilate’s boss Julius Caesar…is not. And Caesar, of all people, would want no confusion. There’s only room for one king.

So Pilate, who by all historical counts was not a good man…stares at Jesus. Perhaps puts out his cigarette, tightens his robe and says casually,

“Are you the King of the Jews?”

Jesus says, casually as well,

“Are you really curious, or are you just listening to what my accusers say?”

To which Pilate curtly replies:

“You’ve been brought to me as a criminal. What have you done?”

And this time, Jesus says:

“My kingdom is not from this world.”

Pilate says, “Aha!, so you are a king!”

My kingdom is not from this world.

No. That’s been pretty clear all along. The kingdoms of the world are about power, empire, economics. Remember before Jesus even went into ministry, how he was tempted three times by Satan? And the third temptation was…what?

He was taken to a high mountain and shown all the kingdoms of the world, and their splendor…power! influence! fame! wealth! They were all for Jesus if he would bow down in worship to Satan. But he said “No. Worship only the Lord your God, and serve only him.”

Interesting. A King who refuses personal power and reward.

Or remember Jesus standing outside the grave of his friend Lazarus, and seeing his friends and relatives grieving deeply over his death. We are told three different times that Jesus was moved deep in his soul, that he stood and wept.

Interesting. A King who weeps over the pain of others.

Or still another time when Jesus was standing in a deserted place and many poor and common people had come to hear him and be touched by him, we are told he was moved with compassion, and fed them and healed them.

Interesting. A King who is concerned over the needs of the poor.

As Jesus talks with Pilate, he says:

“My kingdom is not from this world.

If it were, my followers would be fighting right now for my release.”

But the only fighting which had gone on was in the garden at Jesus’ arrest, when impetuous Peter had grabbed a sword, and lashed out in violence and Jesus had said “No! Put the sword away,” and touched and healed the man who had been struck.

Interesting. A King who says no to violence. A King who is a healer.

“My Kingdom is not from this world,” Jesus says. No. But it is for this world.

“My Kingdom is not from here. I was born, I came into the world…to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

It is an invitation, perhaps a final invitation, to Pilate.

Interesting. A King who, even to his worst enemy, at his darkest moment, holds open the door and the invitation to enter into something he has never experienced. The Truth.

Not long before, Jesus had told his followers “I am the Truth.” That Truth is present with Pilate, standing right in front of him. The truth that God’s care is for all people, that he has sent a rescuer, a savior into the world for their sake. It is a truth that rises above the shifting politics of any generation.

When Jesus is finally crowned, it is out of ridicule and in pain. He is mocked, beaten, given a purple robe, and a crown of thorns. Most of the references in the gospels to Jesus’ kingship happen in the same place: around his death. That is where his kingship is defined. It is where kingship is re-defined.

Interesting. A King who would even die on behalf of his people.

Maybe our problem is we’ve been looking at the wrong kings. Jesus is clearly a different kind of king. No matter how many authority figures we have been let down by in our lives, this is different. We go looking for something to trust in, and find this different King, Jesus. Perhaps we would even dare trust our lives to such a one as this. Perhaps we would dare to follow His call. Perhaps we would even dare assume some of the ministries that Jesus practiced as king, especially “watching out for the least of these.”

When I see the kind of king that Jesus was, I realize why I get so queasy about movements, including (especially) Christian movements that grab ahold of the world’s strategies, and politics to gain power and influence...even when it’s “for the gospel.” It’s what happens when we “want to be like the other nations.” Jesus’ kingdom is different than that. It’s more. It’s mysterious. It’s surprising.

Mike Yaconelli was a youth ministry guru and a writer for the old Door magazine. He once told a story about his church:

“One Sunday morning, during the time for prayer requests, a member began describing the critical illness of her father. Because she was close to her father, her request for prayer was frequently interrupted by tears. Those around her reached out a hand or nodded with sadness. Some found their eyes filling with tears as well. The woman finished her request as best as she could.

Seated in the front row was Sadie—a young woman with Down’s syndrome. Sadie stood and walked up the aisle until she saw the woman in the middle of her row. Stepping over the feet of other people in the aisle, Sadie reached the woman, bent down on her knees, laid her head on the woman’s lap, and cried with her.

Sadie "inconvenienced" an entire row of people, stepped on their shoes, and forced them to make room for her … none of us will ever forget that moment. Sadie is still teaching…us what the odd compassion of Christ’s church looks like.”

I think she’s teaching us what the kingdom of God looks like. And something about what the king looks like as well. You see, I think

• The elders of Israel were exactly right: we do want to be like everyone else.
  
• Pope Pius was exactly right: the idea of any kind of authority in our life makes us incredibly uncomfortable.
  
• Kierkegaard’s parable was exactly right: in order to love to be authentic, in order to woo us and not coerce us, the King took on human life.
  
• Pilate was exactly right: there is only room for one king in life. Each day we will choose who it will be.
  
• Sadie was exactly right: Her compassion reminds us that Jesus was a different kind of king. Christ. The King.

Let us pray.