Festival of Christ the King (B) – Revelation 1:4-8
When I was in Vienna, my history professor took the class to see the Capuchin church. We were studying the life and legacy of the Hapsburg monarchs, and this was the place where they were buried. Now, I don’t much like crypts. A few weeks earlier, we had gone to the Rupertskirche, I believe, though I’ve probably got the name wrong. We went down to the newly rediscovered crypt, which had been hermetically sealed in the fourteenth century. The bodies had stopped decaying, and we could see them, see the clothes they were buried in, and so forth. I’m told I turned white as a sheet. In any case, I wasn’t looking forward to the tombs of the emperors, but we went anyway, and I have to admit, it was a pretty interesting trip.
We walked from St. Stephen’s Church in central Vienna, weaving through a couple of streets, just like the Hapsburg monarchs’ funerals would have done. When we stopped outside the Capuchinerkirche’s door, our professor explained the ritual that took place there. The master of ceremonies would knock on the door, and the monks within would call, “Who wants to enter?” The master of ceremonies would answer, “The Holy Roman Emperor.” And the monks would say, “We don’t know him,” and the door would remain closed.
The knock would come again, and this time, the emperors other titles would be read. “Crown Prince of Austria-Hungary; Prince Royal of Hungary and Bohemia, of Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia, Lodomeria, and Illyria; Grand Duke of Tuscany and Cracow; Duke of Lorraine, of Salzburg, Styria, Carinthia, Carniola and Bukowina,” and so on, and so forth. And the monks would say, “We don’t know him,” and the door would remain closed.
On the third try, the funeral procession would have the privilege of hearing the long list of minor titles and civic achievements. In Otto’s case back in 2011, that meant, “President and Honorary President of the Pan-European Union, Member and interim president of the European Parliament, honorary doctor of many universities and an honorary citizen of many towns in Central Europe;” you get the idea. And the monks, not unexpectedly, would say, “We don’t know him,” and the door would remain closed.
And then they’d knock on the door again. This time, when the monks asked, “Who seeks to enter,” the master of ceremonies would simply say, “A poor sinner.” And the doors would open, and the procession would enter the crypt.
There are many titles we could use for Jesus. Today, we celebrate Christ the King, or in it’s long title, “The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe.” It’s a hard concept for us to wrap our heads around, living in a country that, since its inception, has never had a king, and living in a world where most queens and kings are simply figureheads and ceremonial leaders; most of the kings we have experience with are the ones found in fairy tales and Disney movies. We all want our fairy tale prince or princess; we all secretly want to BE princes or princesses; but in reality, we don’t really have any idea what that would mean. To carry that idea or lack of idea into our theology to explain who Jesus is probably doesn’t make sense.
The Book of Revelation, however, with its thrones and martyrs and dominions and principalities, might give us some insight into what it means for Christ to be our king. Let’s look at some of the titles he’s given in our reading for today.
The one that always stands out for me is the “Alpha and Omega.” Jesus is the beginning and the end. All things have their source, their ground of being, in him; and all things will eventually come to rest in him; and he is there at every space in between. He is the one who is, and who was, and who is to come. Jesus Christ is present now, involved with us, part of our lives. Jesus informs everything we do, urges us in the right direction, and catches us when we fall. But he was also there at the beginning. Jeremiah talks of God’s presence, forming him in his mother’s womb. Jesus was part of our lives from our very conception. And long before that, he was the Word that spoke creation into being. Jesus was in the great divine power that took the little point of nothingness and exploded it into being in a tremendous release of energies, ripping forces apart and spiraling galaxies into existence. So, too, does Jesus promise to be there at the end, drawing our lives into him, so that we may abide in him and he in us, placing our eternal existence in the bosom of the same Love that was there at the beginning. Jesus is the beginning and the end—the beginning and end of all things, and the beginning and the end of our being.
Is that clear? Does that give us a clear picture of who Jesus is? I don’t think so. I mean, I like the idea, the concept that we’re trying to express, but it’s a little too big to make any sense of. Let’s try something else.
Revelation tells us that Jesus is the “faithful witness.” Jesus makes constant reference to his Father in heaven. Throughout his ministry, throughout his teaching, Jesus is always trying to help us to understand the “Kingdom of God,” or the “Kingdom of Heaven,” the place where God rules, and where God’s rules shape the way we live. Though, to be honest, we never quite get it. The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, which grows into a large bush, big enough for all kinds of birds to make their nests. And we can picture the seed, and the bush, and the birds, but can’t really picture the kingdom they are meant to illustrate. The Kingdom of Heaven is like a man who sowed seed in his field, but overnight an enemy came and sowed weeds in among the wheat. Now the weeds can’t be pulled up without harming the grain, right? So we wait for the harvest, and then they’re separated and the weeds are burned. Everyone understands that parable completely. Or perhaps not. And that doesn’t even get at some of the things Jesus says about the end times, when Jesus gives us the comforting words, “Everyone will hate you because of me.” Or “Pray that this will not happen in Winter.” Jesus is the faithful witness to God and God’s will. But I think even the best of us are only able to begin to understand the witness he makes.
Then Revelation tells us that Jesus is the “firstborn of the dead.” And now, at least, we can get somewhere with this proclamation. We know the story. Jesus was killed, crucified on the cross. And then, three days later, he came back to life. This is clear, comprehensible teaching. It’s just a little hard to swallow. We believe that Jesus rose from the dead. We do. But at the same time, we know how final death is. We know this from experience. And the stories of Jesus after his resurrection are a little bit fanciful. He walks through locked doors to display his wounds to a doubtful disciple. He walks to Emmaus with disciples who don’t recognize him on the way, and when they suddenly do figure out who his is as he breaks bread with them, he vanishes before their very eyes. He sits on the beach eating breakfast with his friends, asking them pointed questions and telling them about their end. And then, suddenly, he floats up into heaven in the presence of his disciples, promising to return once again. We are Christians, we believe this, we do, but perhaps it stretches our powers of belief just a little too far beyond reality. It might be better if we took it as a good story, meant to teach us, perhaps, not to be afraid of death or something like that, and went back to Jesus’ teaching and moral practices. Is that why fundamentalism is so popular these days? It makes you worry all the time about rules for living so that you don’t ever have to focus on the death and resurrection and what it means?
There’s a popular old painting of Jesus knocking on the door of our heart. He looks kindly and a lot more vaguely Swedish than anyone born in the Middle East has any right to be. He’s surrounded by this lovely garden, and there’s the door, pleasant and ready to open. I hate this painting. I hate it because it’s so benign and benevolent and simpering about something that’s truly complicated and frightening and maybe even a little incomprehensible. But you can just imagine him knocking on the door. And we call out, timidly, worriedly, “Who is it?” And Jesus answers, “Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God, King of the Universe.” And we say, “I don’t know him.”
And so Jesus tries again. “It’s Jesus. The Alpha and the Omega. Who is and who was and who is to come. The Almighty.” And we say, “I don’t know him.”
And so Jesus tries a third time. “Jesus. The faithful witness. The firstborn of the dead. The ruler of the kings of the earth. To whom be glory and dominion forever and ever.” And we say, “No, really. I don’t know him. Would you please go away and bother someone else?”
And so Jesus takes on flesh. Jesus becomes God incarnate, born of a human woman, living alongside us, suffering with sinners, healing the sick, proclaiming the gospel. And then Jesus goes to the cross, takes on our sins, dies for them, dies for us, and rises again. And then Jesus knocks on our hearts once again. And this time, when we ask, “Who is it,” having taken on the weight of our sins, he who was perfect can answer, “A poor sinner.”
And this is the way of Jesus, our King. Amen.