Sunday 22 November 2020

Christ the King

Audio version here

Ezekiel 34.11-16, 20-24, Matthew 25.31-46

 

There’s a story told about St Elizabeth of Hungary, who lived in the early 13th century which always comes into my mind when I hear today’s Gospel reading. Elizabeth had wanted, from an early age, to enter a convent and devote herself to God. She had been very much influenced by the Franciscan movement – she was a contemporary of St Francis-  and she wanted to live the life of radical simplicity, helping the poor, that Francis did. But Elizabeth was a princess, the daughter of King Andrew II of Hungary, and princesses didn’t get to choose what they did with their lives. They were valuable bargaining chips in making alliances and building up power bases. Elizabeth had been promised in marriage from early childhood to Louis, the Landgrave, or Lord, of Thuringia. She was married at 14 and bore him three children in quick succession, but still held onto her Franciscan ideals. Her marriage was happy – she and Louis grew to love each other - but the same can’t be said of her mother-in-law. She was very sceptical of Elizabeth’s care for the poor and sick. Elizabeth would be more likely to be found helping a filthy beggar than mixing with the high and mighty as her mother-in-law thought she should.

 

What infuriated her most, was Elizabeth’s habit of taking in waifs and strays, the sick and destitute. On one occasion, says the story, while Louis was away, Elizabeth and her mother in law were left behind to manage the castle. Before long Elizabeth began to fill it with the needy. The castle was overflowing with people. But just when it seemed that even she would have to call a halt, a leper turned up at the castle gates, filthy and covered in sores. What was Elizabeth to do? There was no more room, no more beds. Except, she realised, one. With Louis away, his bed was empty. Elizabeth promptly installed the leper there, washed and fed him, and left him to sleep. Her mother in law was incandescent. How dare she! She sent a message to Louis telling him that his wife had put another man in his bed, leaving him to imagine what that might mean.

 

Louis took the bait and stormed into the castle and up to his room. He flung open the door, but whatever he expected to see, it wasn’t this. There on his bed, lay Christ himself, fast asleep. Louis shut the door quietly and went away. In the morning, when he looked again, there was the leper, healed and well, and able to go on his way rejoicing.

 

It’s a lovely story, whether you believe it or not, and it clearly draws on the imagery of the Gospel reading today. In Jesus’ parable, those who help others eventually discover that they have, completely unawares, helped Jesus himself.

 

But that’s the important thing to note. They are completely unaware of what they’ve done.  The “sheep” in Jesus’ parable, the ones who are singled out for praise, have no idea what he means when he says that they saw him hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, in prison and looked after him, any more than Elizabeth thought she was helping Jesus when she took in that leper. She and the people in the parable cared for those in need simply because they were in need. It was their humanity, not their divinity which mattered to those who helped.

 

To be honest, when I am in need, I don’t want people to help me because they see Jesus in me. I want them to help me because they see me, as I am. I want to know that I am of value in myself. Being seen and known as ourselves, as someone unique and precious, is often the thing that helps us most when we are in trouble. Being acknowledged and noticed, knowing you aren’t just a number, a set of case notes, a bed in a hospital ward, a nameless bundle of needs; that’s what empowers us and gives us dignity in times of trouble. When we read the parable of the sheep and goats as an invitation to look on everyone as if they were Jesus, we risk denying people their own individuality, implying that they aren’t worth our help as themselves, and that turns the parable on its head. It’s even worse, of course, if we see helping people as a way of getting our own ticket to heaven, and those we try to help will soon pick up the fact that they are being used for our own selfish ends.

 

Today is the feast of Christ the king, It’s the last day of the Church’s Year, the end point of the great cycle of stories that takes us through the birth, ministry, death and resurrection of Christ,  the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost to inspire his followers. It all leads to this, to the recognition of Christ as king, whose kingdom we pray will come, and his will be done “on earth as in heaven” as we pray so often.

 

But what kind of king is he? The image that Jesus’ first followers would have had of kingship, would have been based on the rulers they saw around them – the Roman Emperors, or local kings like Herod. Like so many leaders throughout history, their main aim was to get and keep power, whatever the cost, like the leaders the prophet Ezekiel denounced in our Old Testament reading. Power was what counted in the ancient world. The belief that the Roman emperor was divine was first established during Jesus’ lifetime. The Emperor was, quite literally, to be put on a pedestal and worshipped.  Rulers behaved as if they should get whatever they wanted and be obeyed unquestioningly. It was all about them, as it still so often is with leaders today. All too often, they climb the greasy pole to get themselves into positions of power because they need to be needed, recognised, adored. It’s a dangerous thing, because that sort of need can never fully be met. It’s like a permanently hungry monster, always needing more.

 

Jesus upends that image of leadership completely, in this parable though, as he did throughout his life. It’s not all about him. He doesn’t look for glory. He doesn’t need adulation. He’s perfectly secure in the love of his Father. He can serve others without ever feeling diminished himself. And he teaches his followers that it is in loving those around us, just as they are, that we do his will and delight his heart, without us even knowing it.  

 

To serve, and to lead, like that is difficult and demanding, though. No one can affirm the worth and dignity of another unless they have a good sense of their own worth and dignity. “We love,” as the first letter of John puts it, “because God first loved us.” (1 John 4.19) We can only treat others as beloved children of God, if we know that we are too. We can only listen to others with full attention, and give them space, if we know that we’ve been heard and have our own secure space in the heart of God.

 

In Christ, God comes among us, becomes one of us, but not as some kind of superhero, who covers our feeble humanity with his glorious divinity. Christ comes to show us that this flesh and blood which God made and gave to us, is already blessed. He came to show us that always and everywhere we’re standing on holy ground, because of our humanity, not despite it, that we and everyone, are his gift, his good idea, to be cherished and celebrated.

Amen

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