Recognising Christ as King (Nov 24)

Readings, John 18: 33-37 and Revelation 1: 4b-8
Image, Station I: Pilate condemns Jesus to death, Bruce Onobrakpeya (1969)
 
In Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure, the Duke of Vienna walks through the city disguised as a Friar, witnessing the many abuses of power being visited upon the city by his second-in-command Angelo. He remarks:
My business in this state
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna,
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble
Till it o’errun the stew.
In the play’s final act, the Duke drops his disguise and confronts and condemns Angelo.
 
In his vision, John declared that when Christ returns on the clouds, every eye will see him,
even those who pierced him. Christ, in heavenly glory, rule of the kings of earth, will be recognisable to those who punished him as a criminal, who knew him only as the ironic king adorned with a crown of thorns… what are we to make of that?
 
Much of our scriptures and liturgy stress the continuity and consistency of God. The recognisability and trustworthiness of God’s character, the unchanged and unchanging quality of divine nature. As that reading from Revelation ended, ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega’, says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty. Who is God? Well, whoever God is, it is always the same, yesterday, today, tomorrow. As we say in the communion liturgy, Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ has come again. Who is Christ? Well, whoever Christ is, is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
 
Whatever we say about Christ in glory, cannot be inconsistent with Christ in humility. Whatever we say about Christ in eternity, cannot be in contradiction to Christ incarnate. This is particularly important when we come to Christ the King Sunday when it is so easy to start speaking of Jesus in a ways anathema to the Galilean peasant we know from the Gospels. Without careful attention to how we speak, the Christ coming in glory starts to sound like a cold and rigid medieval monarch leading a crusade, imposing his power and authority with undeniable force. And this, we quickly realise, feels at odds with the one who said true greatness is found in service, true love in laying down one’s life. At odds with he who stood before Pilate – facing impending torture and execution – and invited those around to listen to his voice as it testified to the truth, stood before Pilate and said that his followers had no need to take up the sword, because his kingdom is not like those of the world.
 
This is all to say, that yes, we await the day when Christ comes again in glory, but that what we will see is not a categorical break from what those who walked with Jesus two thousand years ago saw. To speak of Christ’s rule and reign, of Christ as king, is a kind of speech that must pass a quality test of sorts… does it still sound like Jesus of Nazareth?
 
Does it sound like the one who stopped in his tracks when the bleeding woman touched the hem of his cloak? Does it sound like the one who looked on the crowds with compassion and ensured they were fed? Does it sound like the one who wept at Lazarus’ tomb? Does it sound like the one who told his disciple to sheave his sword and healed the wounded soldier? Does it sound like the one who called his followers friends? Does it sound like the one who proclaimed the kingdom of God where last are first, debts forgiven, and the forgotten found? Does it sound like the one who from the cross asked God to forgive his tormentors, his friend to tend to his mother, and promised paradise to the thief by his side?
 
Even when resurrected, it is clear that as much as some things have changed (Jesus is more or less unbound from the rule of physics, able to move through walls or disappear entirely), more has remained the same: Jesus still bears the wounds of the world, still attends to the grief of his friends, still gathers those scattered and forlorn, still offers food to the hungry.
 
So it is with the ascension. Jesus, no longer bound bodily on earth, sits at the right hand of God. Yet, he remains consistent in his nature: Jesus sends the Spirit to be our counsellor and to secure our adoption into the household of God. He gives himself in bread and wine, and when we pray in his name he advocates as our High Priest (familiar with our struggles).
 
He is who was, is, and is to come; He who died, is risen, and will come again. The manner of his presence may change, but his nature does not. This is what it means to confess that those who pierced him on the cross shall recognise him on the clouds. As the one who testified to and was identified as the truth, there is no falsity within him, no duplicity, no late in the play surprises that reveal he was not who he seemed to be. The one born of Mary and suffered under Pontius Pilate is recognisable as the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.
 
And yet, in one of those delightfully mystical paradoxes so common to our faith, there is also an unrecognisable quality to Christ the King. For when Jesus teaches of that final day when he shall come in glory, placing sheep and goats on his right and left, Christ (like the Duke) will be revealed to have been walking among us still, walking among us unrecognised as the least of these. And to deepen the mystery of it all, Christ has gone unrecognised by both the wicked who did not feed the hungry and visit the prisoner, and by the righteous who welcomed the stranger and clothed the naked. This is the paradox of this age, the time between Christ’s resurrection and return. For when Christ comes on the clouds in glory he shall be recognised by all, but until then Christ comes to us here and is recognised by no one.
 
This parable of Jesus’ cannot teach us to recognise Christ, but it can teach us what it means to recognise that Christ is King. For we recognise the reign of Christ when we give the hungry something to eat, the thirsty something to drink, when we welcome the stranger and cloth the naked, when we visit the sick and imprisoned.
 
We do not wish to be found, like those in Vienna, suddenly surprised that the Duke walked among us in these days. Exposed for our lack of care and compassion, surprised that the modest apparel disguised his glory. Instead, let us encourage one another that to live within the reign of Christ is to recognise our king in the least of these. To recognise Christ in those who call on us to provide the kind of care we recognise and trust as Christ’s.
 
The world seeks to teach us how to recognise prisoners, strangers, and the needy. So many kingdoms of the world have sought to establish their identity and bounds by teaching their subjects to recognise the least in ways marked by denigration, dismissal, and derision. So many earthly kings have sought to establish their virtue by conditioning subjects to recognise the supposed threat of the least of these. Angelo sought to establish his rule through a strict set of sexual mores and the punishment of those deemed deviant. The tragic aim of so many worldly kingdoms is to seek to cast the marginalised and oppressed, not only as so much lower than a God, but lower still than a man. However, to follow Christ as king is to learn a new kind of recognition. To be a subject of this kingdom is to bestow proper value and worth, proper welcome and care on those too often “misrecognised.” To confess Christ as King is to treat the least as bearing his visage and moving to stand in solidarity in the work for justice and dignity. It is the treatment of the least that proves true recognition of the King and the true authority of his kingdom over and against the kingdoms of the world which would have us recognise the least as anything other than a child of God.
 
Christ is our king, and we can recognise him through his humble service and magnificent love. And Christ is our king, who goes among us as the unrecognised, awaiting us to serve and love in his very example. Let us go forth then, to serve and stand with those who bear the presence of Christ, in the way of Christ, for the glory of Christ.