Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe

          Today we celebrate the last Sunday of ordinary time and the last Sunday of the liturgical year before beginning a new liturgical year next Sunday with the first Sunday of Advent.  And so, as a way to crown the liturgical year, so to speak, we also celebrate today the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe.

          Let’s face it, as Americans we probably have some difficulty in getting excited about this solemnity.  We chafe at the notion of a king.  After all our country was founded in defiance of a king.  In general, we have a very negative understanding of monarchy.  We associate it immediately with corruption and dictatorship.  We automatically think of a king as a tyrant.  This is our own particular cultural and political background.  And yet, each of us (I would be willing to bet) likes the story of a good king, a king who is truly noble and self-sacrificing; a king who loves and provides for his people, who inspires them to greatness, and who, though he is king, is very much one among his people.  Now, imagine for a moment actually having such a king.  Well, we do have such a king.  He is Jesus Christ.

          I once heard it explained that it is not so much that we like the story of the Gospel because it reminds us of a fairytale, but rather the reverse: we like fairytales so much because they remind us of the Gospel.  In the same way, I don’t think that it is the case that we like Jesus so much because He reminds of one of those good kings we hear about in stories or fairytales, but rather that we like those good kings we read about in stories or fairytales because they remind us of Jesus, who is the model of true kingship.

          Christ is our King, and yet He might not be exactly what we were expecting.  He certainly was not what His own people were expecting.  The Jewish people in awaiting the Messiah were looking for a great warrior-king who would rise up and conquer Israel’s foes, who would unite the nation under himself (He would be God’s chosen one, the Lord’s anointed), and he would make a triumphant entrance into the city of Jerusalem.  They did not expect a king who would make His entrance mounted not on a warhorse, but on a donkey.  They did not expect a king who, rather than being cheered and reached out to with affectionate touches, would be mocked, beaten, and spat upon.  They did not expect a king who would wear a crown not of gold and jewels, but of thorns.  They did not expect a king who would reign not from some majestic throne, but from the throne of the cross.  But this was Jesus, the true Messiah, God’s chosen one, the Lord’s anointed.  This is our king.  He comes in all humility and offers Himself completely for our sake.  In what appears through human eyes to be nothing but weakness and utter defeat, is in fact the greatest victory: victory over sin and death once and for all.

          There is still another way in which Jesus our King might not be quite what we were expecting.  It is not a mistake that on this Christ the King Sunday the first reading, the responsorial psalm, and the Gospel all make reference to shepherds.  That is because Christ our King is a shepherd-king.  In a sense, He speaks to us through the words of the prophet Ezekiel:  “I myself will look after and tend my sheep.  As a shepherd tends his flock…so I will tend my sheep.”  This is a king who seeks out the lost, who brings back the strayed, who binds up the injured and heals the sick, but also a king, who “separates the sheep from the goats.”  Is He a tyrant for this?  Is He a tyrant because He does not let His sheep wander where they will or because in His justice He passes judgment on them?  I don’t think so.  After all, the tyrant rules only out self-interest (wanting to make himself powerful), but the good king (this shepherd-king of ours) already possesses total power, and so rules out of total love for His subjects, the sheep of His flock.

          One of the meditations in the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola is for the person making the retreat (that is, going through these spiritual exercises) to imagine himself or herself on a great plain, on a field of battle.  And on this field are two amassing armies, each with their banners.  (St. Ignatius was a soldier prior to his conversion, and so it seems you take the man out of the army, but not the army out of the man.)  One of the armies gathering on this great field is that of the enemy: Satan, the evil one, or as St. Ignatius refers to him elsewhere, “the enemy of our human nature.”  The retreatant is asked to imagine the evil one “seated on a throne of fire and smoke, inspiring horror and terror” and driving his minions before him like slaves.  The other army is that of Christ.  And His appearance is radiant and confident (after all the victory has already been won) as He stands shoulder to shoulder with his followers.  They march with him not as slaves, but as willing servants.  Now, I think we have to be careful not to take militaristic images or calls to “spiritual combat” too far, but I think there is some real merit in this little exercise, if only to ask ourselves, “Under whose banner are we marching?  Are we being driven like slaves in front of the cruel masters of pride and self-will, or are we marching arm in arm with Christ, our Shepherd, our King and our God?” 

          More than this, how can be sure to always be under the banner of Christ?  How do we ally ourselves with this good shepherd-king?  Well, the king himself tells us:  “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me…Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of the least brothers of mine, you did for me.”  And so, the mark of truest loyalty to our king is charity, love.

          We are, as I mentioned, at the end of the liturgical year and about to begin a new year with Advent.  And I would propose that just as we might make a new year’s resolution for the beginning of the new calendar year, so also we might make a resolution as we begin Advent next week.  Let us make a pledge to “fight” under the banner of Christ the King by taking up some work of mercy: feeding the hungry in some way, clothing the naked, visiting the sick, the homebound, or imprisoned.  There are many ways to do these things.  Opportunities abound: we need only commit ourselves.

          I would also urge all of us at the close of this liturgical year and the beginning of the next to ask Jesus our King to, once again, set up His throne in our hearts.  Let us allow Him to rule from the throne-room of our hearts, to govern your entire lives.  He is, after all, a good king, not a tyrant.  In allowing Him to reign in us, in all that we say and do, we will make ourselves instruments of His Kingdom, “a kingdom of truth and life…of holiness and grace, a kingdom of justice, love and peace.”

          At this Eucharist we approach the throne of Christ our King, the throne of all grace.  We approach the cross.  And just as once He came in all humility, riding on donkey, so now he comes to us under the humble appearance of bread and wine all so that we might share in His heavenly glory.  Long live Christ the King!