Christ The King Sunday!

“A Circle of Hope”

A Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Christopher W. Keating

© 2006 - All rights reserved
November 26, 2006

Christ The King Sunday
Focus: The promise of John’s revelation is a promise of God’s eternal hope, without beginning and without end, offered to us through Jesus Christ our king.


Background:

“Christ the King Sunday” is somewhat of a newcomer to the liturgical calendar, having been observed by Christians only since the middle to late twentieth century. It comes at the last Sunday of the liturgical calendar, the Sunday before Advent. It comes at the point of the year when we step back and look at the totality of Christ's message, and is a reminder that only Christ is Lord, only Jesus Christ is supreme king.

Sermon

When I was a young child, for several years we lived in northern New Jersey, not far from New York City. It didn’t happen every year, but on several times I remember making a special holiday excursion into the city to see the displays in the windows of the big stores and to walk along Manhattan’s crowded streets. The longest part of that experience was the card ride into the city. Dreaming about the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center or the toys at FAO Schwartz, I would peer out the window of my parent’s Chevy …and soon the George Washington bridge would appear. If it was a foggy day, the city would just pop in front of you. It was, literally, an unveiling. It could have been the new Jerusalem descending from the clouds! I loved watching my Dad toss the coins into the toll basket, because I knew that very soon we would be in the hustle and bustle of Christmas in Manhattan.

Crossing that bridge was always a magical experience. (Perhaps more for me than for my parents, who had to negotiate New York City traffic!) Think of the words I learned! As soon as we were on that bridge, the buildings and the life, the vibrancy of New York City popped into view. In its own way, it was like crossing a threshold, going to a new place – a revealing of a world that was otherwise unimaginable to a seven-year old kid from the suburbs. It was, quite literally, an experience of crossing into a very different world.

It wasn’t just the physical experience of entering the city that was transforming; it was the complete emotional rush of crossing the George Washington bridge mixed with the sights, the sounds, the hope of what would happen.

It is similar to the experience of reading from the book of Revelation. Notice, I said “Revelation,” not “revelations.” This book is often misunderstood, misread, and misinterpreted. It is not, as some suggest, a detailed description of how the world will come to an end, but is instead a pastoral letter to those who are struggling. Written toward the end of the first century by a Christian named John, the book is a combination of songs, poetry, visions, and prophesy. We call it “apocalyptic” because it contains a “revealing,” of sorts, a bridge of hope to the Christians of that century, and today. It is a book that confuses and confounds. Reading it can be as difficult as talking about politics over Thanksgiving dinner.

Despite all the difficulties, John’s letter-slash-vision is compelling reading for Christians across all generations because hidden in its codes and images is a word of comfort and enduring hope. It remains a bridge of hope for those who feel themselves caught in the causeways of pain and struggle, worried about the future, and not so sure about the present. It is a reminder of the complete circle of hope we have in Christ. John reminds those caught in struggle to hold fast in the face of their faith, and to stay focused on the gift of God’s hope.

And we trust in that hope. John suggests because Christ our King has been the faithful witness, the One who faced the cross so that we might have hope. Christ is indeed the Alpha and the Omega, the very center of our being. And for that reason, we too can stand in the circle of God’s hope.

Hope, of course, is hard to experience if you’re feeling squeezed by the boot of the emperor. John’s vision is a reminder that the powers of this world do not have the final say. To those who feel the press of Caesar’s boot against their faith, John points across the abyss of their suffering and says: “Look! He is coming!” To those who sense that their lives are empty and filled with no meaning, John offers another way of imagining life. To those who stand on one side of the threshold, he points out another vision, a vision of hope, a vision offered to us from the firstborn of the dead, the faithful witness, a vision of the One who loves us and has freed us.

Hope, as Eugenia Gamble has so wryly observed, is “not a tooth under a pillow, or fingers crossed just one more Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes try.”[1] Hope is more penetrating and concrete than that. It is, she says, a promise: a promise rooted in the unshakable love of God. It appears in our lives like the New York skyline, looming large against the clouds of despair and difficulty. Each time we cross the threshold of that sanctuary we find it again. We see it in the face of the friend from church who comes lugging a casserole of green beans and a pan of lasagna when we faced the worst day of our life. We feel it each week as we to sing the Gloria Patri or the doxology, and suddenly our eyes catch the look of joy on the face of God’s precious children.

We say it to ourselves, standing over an open grave or above the open wounds of our lives...“I am the Alpha and the Omega…the one who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” In the face of all the despair that is in our culture, John wants us to know we stand in the circle of hope. There in the midst of his acclamation of praise, he expands this vision of hope ever so slightly. John reminds us that we are made to be a kingdom of priests who serve each other. Taking our cue from the King of Kings, the ever-faithful witness, we gather in worship, losing ourselves in praise, only to discover that we are to be faithful priests…one to the other.

In a church not unlike ours, there exists a prayer chain that is activated regularly. A member calls the first person on the list to share a concern or a joy, and then that person calls four persons who each call four persons, and pretty soon the word has spread throughout the church. Long before the Internet, this community was connected in a virtual network. It is more than mere gossip. Sometimes the calls come late at night, sometimes during the day, interrupting important meetings and dinners and dates. Sometimes you know the people you pray for, and sometimes you do not. It doesn’t matter, for as priests to each other, the prayers are offered as a way of showing support. It is the way people who stand in connection with each other point out the skyline of hope.

They do it – we do it – as a way of remembering the faithful king who came not in power, but in humility and service.

You may remember how, some year’s ago now, two Israeli school girls were killed as they were playing in a park known as the “Island of Peace.” When it became apparent that the soldier was acting alone, no international tensions were raised. The story could have ended there. You may also remember, though, that Jordan’s King Hussein heard about the incident, and left the safety of his palace and country to travel to the homes of those two girls. As he entered each house, the king feel down on his knees, acknowledging the grief those parents felt. He looked into their eyes and said, “I beg you, forgive me, forgive me. Your daughter is like my daughter, and your loss is my loss. May God help you to bear your pain.”

Think of it: a Muslim king teaching us the lessons of Christ the King.

It is a message worth remembering. Amen.
[1] Rev. Eugenia Gamble, “Saltwater Apocalypse,” accessed at www.Day1.net