His dominion is an everlasting dominion,
which shall not pass away,
and his kingdom one
that shall not be destroyed (Dan. 7:14).
The language of monarchy is unavoidable in Scripture. Certainly we see it clearly today, where all three readings in various ways focus on kingship. And these are only the tip of the iceberg. As you know, the modern Sunday lectionary follows a three-year cycle, and in this case the other two years have totally different readings, also focusing on kingship. And none of this even begins to touch the way Jesus preaches about the “kingdom of God” in the Gospels, or the whole tumultuous history of monarchy in the Old Testament.
I think it’s necessary to point out the obvious, because it has become common in the modern Church to take great pains to avoid it. We just don’t know what to do with the biblical language of monarchy, much less lordship. These are all things that, in this country, at least, we’ve done away with in one way or another. Sure, we have our royalty—our celebrities and public figures, whether beloved or despised—but they are presumed to be self-made. We don’t quite know what to do with a notion of royalty that is tied to blood, to nature, rather than to talent or power or wealth.
But that is exactly the kind of monarchy consistently presented in Scripture, the kind of monarchy consistently attributed to Jesus Christ. Jesus is king of the universe not because we elected him king after a long and drawn-out campaign; he’s king not because he bought a kingship or won it through military might. Jesus is king because it is his nature to be king. Kingship, monarchy, is just identical with who he is.
There is a complex set of theological problems behind that statement, many of which took their development from the readings that we’ve heard today. We might even say that the Christian doctrine of the Trinity unfolded, in a way, thanks to questions about what it meant for a man, Jesus, to be proclaimed as lord and king of all creation. Some of the exalted language in Revelation poses questions for us if we wish to affirm, with ancient Israel, that there is one God, who is the lone source and monarch of creation. And so it was clear, early on, that the monarchy and lordship that the Church proclaimed in Jesus was identical with the monarchy and lordship of his Father: they were, in other words, two persons, but one God.
The problem is how this utterly transcendent divine monarchy can be seen on the cross.
Perhaps we have to pause to remember just how weird it is to proclaim a crucified dead man as the Lord of heaven and earth. It is very strange. And it’s strange that the Gospel reading for Christ the King is an interview with Pilate just before the crucifixion—in other years, we get the Crucifixion itself! Shouldn’t we get something more exalted? Maybe the Ascension or the Resurrection, or one of Christ’s great miracles, where he demonstrates his power over creation. But no, the reference to kingship we get is cryptic. My kingdom is not of this world. Pilate asks, “Then you are a king?” Jesus answers, “You say that I am a king.” Whatever kind of king Jesus is, it doesn’t make sense to Pilate, just as it doesn’t make sense to a lot of people today.
And yet not that long after, one person in the scene sees things differently. Remember the penitent thief on the cross? Here’s another unexpected reference to monarchy. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” What a strange thing to say! How does he see the Lord’s kingship when Pilate does not?
On the subjective side, the thief on the cross knows, perhaps more than most of us, who he is. He is exposed to the world, naked and nailed to a cross, with all his crimes in the open. Unlike the other thief, who hides from himself even in the face of death, this man knows exactly his fate. Nor does he feel, like Pontius Pilate, that he is surely the master of his own destiny. He knows, in other words, that he has a fate, that it is determined; that there is no way for him to get out of it. He knows that in some sense he is a slave to the powers of sin and death. He knows that he is not, and never really has been, free. And so he submits himself to the king.
On the objective side, the thief on the cross sees—as the early Christians would come to see—that it is exactly on the cross that Jesus most clearly shows his monarchy, his lordship over all things. It is exactly in the humiliation and dereliction of the cross that the divine power is revealed. A lesser power would balk at such humiliation. But the divine power is so unstoppable, so all-encompassing, that even suffering and death are not outside the realm of control. And this is why the early Christians used the cross as a symbol of victory. Instead of showing the weakness of God, it showed God’s strength: it showed that God could use even the worst things about us for his good purposes.
And here we can step back and look at both the subjective and objective sides of the picture.
His dominion is an everlasting dominion,
which shall not pass away,
and his kingdom one
that shall not be destroyed.
There is no escaping the monarchy of God, and of his incarnate Son, Jesus Christ. The end of all things is to be brought under the gracious rule of Christ the King—that is what we prayed in today’s collect. This is, again, strange to us, because the negative aspect of salvation is easier to see: we are “freed from our sins by his blood.” The peoples of the world are “divided and enslaved by sin.” But, in the kingdom of God, freedom doesn’t mean free from being ruled, free from being subjects of a king: it means being freed from all false kings, from all false rules, which enslave rather than liberate.
And this is so because our king’s rule is “gracious.” His rule is love. Christ is the one king, in other words, who can be finally and absolutely trusted, because his power and his lordship are inseparable from his identity. His power and his kingship are free from any possible grasping or coercion. We will never see his kingdom if, like Pilate, we try to fit it to the terms of this world.
At the end of Mass, we will recite together a prayer of consecration to Jesus Christ, King. “Be king,” we will say, “not only of the faithful who have never forsaken thee, but also of the prodigal children who have abandoned thee.” He is such a king whose justice and whose love will follow us whether we acknowledge it or not, whose compassion knows no bounds. By offering our allegiance to him we add nothing to his power or his goodness, but by freely turning our hearts to his we open them to his saving grace. May his divine and sacred heart inflame our hearts with the love of God and his kingdom, both for our good and for the good of the whole world.