Christ the King, 2022

 

Lectionary texts: Jeremiah 23:1-6 and Colossians 1:11-20 and Luke 23:33-43

Our lives are given us, a gift, from God, thrown into a particular time and place, a family, and circumstances, within the flow of history. I did not have to be born at all, and, given that I was, my life would have been very different had I been born in another century, or body. The call on my life is to join in with God’s saving work, from where I am, as fully as I am able. The life I have been given is given with potential and with constraint, not a blank canvas, but a work already begun by those who came before me, generations before, just as I pass something on to those who come after me.

God did not have to come into the world, but chose to do so, in Jesus. Jesus comes, full of amazing potential. As the Creed puts it: ‘God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father.’ Or as Paul writes to the church in Colossae: ‘He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.’

And yet, Jesus comes, accepting the constraints of temporal existence. He is born at a particular moment in the Story of a particular people. Moses comes first, and David, and Isaiah, a Story shaped by liberation and the instruction that enables lives to flourish, by the rise and fall of a kingdom among the empires, by the words of the prophets. Jesus is born of Mary, in Bethlehem, under Roman occupation. As he grows, his ancestors give shape to his own self-understanding. As he meditates on the Law and the Prophets, he understands himself to be sent to the lost sheep of Israel. Why are they lost? Because God has found generations of shepherds sent to watch over his flock to be unfaithful, to be unsafe; God has scattered his flock among the nations for their own safety; and now, God sends another Shepherd King, to search them out and bring them home.

At the culmination of Jesus’ faithful response to the life given him by the Father, he is proclaimed King of the Jews, on order of Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, passing judgement not on the innocent man he has been pushed into having executed, but in judgement of Jesus’ own people, who did not recognize him for who he was. Like Jesus, like you and like me, Pontius is a person, given life by God, thrown into history at a particular moment, a time, and a place, lost to the record, but likely into wealth and political and social connection, and likely serving in the Roman military before becoming the fifth governor of the Roman province of Judea. While in this position, Jesus is brought before him, for his decision or indecision, one might say a difficult decision, certainly a decision with consequences, whatever his ruling on the matter.

The Jewish leaders question whether this man, Pontius Pilate, is a friend of the Caesar, whether what he does with the life he has been given is faithful or faithless towards his king? What should we say? That he keeps faith towards his emperor, but is faithless towards a god he did not worship? Nevertheless, the Jewish god takes Pontius Pilate’s actions and turns them to good, whereas ultimately, though not immediately, he loses the confidence of the emperor in Rome.

We read, also, of two criminals, executed alongside Jesus, one on either side. And of how one of them joins with those who mock him; but that the other recognises a king. One sees an executioner’s scaffold, the same as his own; the other, a royal throne: ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Again, we know nothing of the circumstances that had brought these two men one to Jesus’ left and the other to his right on this coronation day. Perhaps they were simply trying to make the most of the hand they had been dealt. Perhaps they could have done far worse. Perhaps they threw their lives away. But they don’t appear on this page out of nowhere, even if their story is hidden from our sight.

Jesus says to the penitent thief, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’ A Persian word for the royal hunting ground, or pleasure park. In the garden of the king of one of the surrounding nations across whom God has scattered his sheep. Not because this garden is heaven, but because Jesus is the faithful Shepherd King who to the very last has sought and found this lost sheep of Israel, in a far-off place, from where he will bring him home. Today, in Paradise; on the third day, in a reunited Israel and Judah.

We live in a society that tells us, and especially our young people, before it is too late, that you can be whatever you decide to be. But that is a lie, and a paralysing one at that. We cannot be anyone, creating ourselves, out of nothing, a blank sheet. But we can be someone, confronting the life we have been given as honestly as possible, owning it in all its brilliance and bitterness, and offering it back to the Giver of Life, as fully, as faithfully as we are able.

Because he was faithful with the ‘small thing’ of bringing back the lost sheep of Israel, the Father has exalted Jesus and made him King of kings. Not, simply, ruler over all earthly powers, though he is that, but the High King of a family of kings. The Father has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, not as subjects but as fellow heirs, as sisters and brothers of Jesus our Christ. You are a crown prince of heaven. You are a princess royal. You are given a throne to sit beside Jesus, and a crown on your head. Yes, it is a cross-shaped throne, like his, a reminder that we are called to lay down our lives for the sake of others. It is a crown woven of thorns, but thorns crafted of pure gold, for God has taken every hurt you have endured and need yet endure and transformed the darkness into light, the suffering into glory. We do not live our days in a Paradise, a pleasure garden, but participating in the reconciling of all things, whether on earth or in heaven, that it is God’s good pleasure to bring about through the faithful Son, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

God is at work today, through Jesus, transforming you from one degree of glory to another as you gaze upon the King of kings, as we cast our crowns before him in wonder and worship, until, one day, we will be found simultaneously our own unique selves and looking just like Jesus, so clear will be the family likeness. Male or female, Nigerian, Iranian, Chinese, White British, young or old, Jesus standing among his sisters and brothers.

So today, on this Feast of Christ the King, may we be freed to love the Lord our God with our whole being, all that we are, every choice and action, and to love our neighbour as ourselves. Amen.

 

Baptism of Christ 2022

 

Lectionary readings Isaiah 43:1-7 and Luke 3.15–17, 21–22

First, a few notes on the readings. Then, a few thoughts on what it might mean for us today.

From the Old Testament reading, ‘But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.’ (Isaiah 43.1–2)

There are two obvious places where the descendants of Jacob pass through water without even getting wet. First, they pass through the parted waters of the Sea of Reeds, pursued by the chariots of the army of Egypt. And the LORD is with them. Then, a generation later, they pass through the temporarily held back river Jordan into the Promised Land, where they will face the soldier-giants who are garrisoned at Jericho. And they are not overwhelmed.

Our Gospel reading is the account of Jesus’ baptism in the river Jordan, passing through the waters, submerged perhaps, but not overwhelmed. ‘And’ we are told, ‘a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”’ This verse, and this voice, is repeating Psalm 2:7, ‘I will tell of the decree of the LORD: He said to me, “You are my son; today I have begotten you.’ Jesus’ baptism is explicitly his coronation, the restoration of the throne the LORD had given to David and sworn to uphold for ever. Even should David’s sons prove unfaithful and so be removed, the LORD would restore the throne to one of his descendants. This is that.

Psalm 2 is a coronation psalm. It opens with the nations surrounding Jerusalem plotting against her. In response, the LORD sets His chosen king on the throne on His holy hill, to sit in judgement over the surrounding nations, to rule over them as a heritage and to crush all rebellion. Therefore, the kings of those nations are advised to submit themselves as vassals, to serve the LORD’s appointed king and not conspire against him. The psalm concludes, ‘Happy are all who take refuge in him.’ So we have the reading from Isaiah 43, with its water and indirect but clear reference to the Egyptians and the Canaanites, and the reading from Luke 3, with its coronation declaration (and John the baptizer’s reference to the threshing floor which is also a symbol for judgement over nations), and Psalm 2 tying them together.

The implication is a direct challenge to the emperor in Rome and to his proxy rulers in Judea and Samaria and Galilee. It is a challenge that will bring Jesus from passing through the waters of baptism to passing through the waters of death—and out the other side, in his resurrection, neither abandoned by God (though it will look that way for a moment) nor overwhelmed by death. It is a proclamation that will be fulfilled when a Roman emperor, Constantine, embraces Christianity (thoroughly imperfectly, as do we all; and guaranteeing religious freedom for other faiths, as embracing Christianity always does). It is a proclamation that will also be fulfilled by a Church made up of men, women and children drawn from every nation under heaven.

What, then, has this to do with us? I want to begin where Psalm 2 ends, with ‘Happy are all who take refuge in him.’ Experiencing happiness is an essential part of wellbeing, and it tends to be circumstantial. We aren’t happy all the time, and neither should we be, for we are made to experience all the emotions, and to grow to emotional maturity. Happiness is circumstantial, has to do with recognising those moments when we have all that we need for this moment. Gratitude helps us appreciate what we have been given, that brings meaning to our lives and connects us to other people. And happy are those who take refuge in Jesus, the king in the middle of the waters.

It is often said, by those who reject faith, including prominent and influential humanists in the culture around us, that a god who could spare us from suffering and does not do so is not a god before whom we should prostrate ourselves. And it is true that God does not promise to spare us from suffering. Instead, God has promised to be with us in our suffering—in those experiences that open us to empathy and compassion and to justice and commitment to others—and, in time, to redeem us, to rescue and restore us.

Emotions are not, for the most part, mutually exclusive, and so we can find ourselves experiencing the grief of bereavement or the anger of frustration at our inability to rescue someone we love from the anxiety that grips them and at the same time know the happiness that comes from an awareness of Jesus alongside us. Sometimes our eyes are opened to see that, and to see meaning in that, just as at Jesus’ baptism the heavens were torn open and the Holy Spirit descended in the form of a dove, for those with eyes to see. The questions I want to offer you today are, where do you feel (or fear) the waters rising? And, in those circumstances, what say you of this Jesus?

 

Christ the King 2021

 

Christ the King 2021

Lectionary readings: Daniel 7:9-10, 13, 14 and Revelation 1:4b-8 and John 18:33-37

Today is the Feast of Christ the King, the culmination of the Church year. Next Sunday, Advent Sunday, marks the new year, the beginning of a new cycle through the story of Jesus and his people in season and out of season, feasting and fasting, and in the ordinariness of our days. To proclaim that Christ is King is to acknowledge that he has been appointed by God as both Lord of the Church and Judge of the Nations. In our Gospel reading today we are reminded that Jesus’ kingdom is not of this world, but it is in this world, at work, according to a different value-system and despite appearances. The Bible ends with Revelation, which is not a forecasting of a far-distant future but (like parts of Daniel) an apocalypse, a pulling back the veil to reveal what is really going on beneath the surface in the present, as John writes his coded message to encourage a Christian community heavily persecuted towards the end of the reign of the Roman emperor Domitian. But what does it mean, for us, to declare that Christ is King? What difference does it make, and how do we see that reality worked out in the world?

We are part of Durham Diocese, a family of around 300 Anglican churches in this part of the northeast, between the Tyne and the Tees, the Dales, and the Sea. Our mission, together, is to ‘bless our communities in Jesus’ name for the transformation of us all.’ And we listen together, to one another, to discern what it is that Jesus is calling us to do, through which his kingship is manifest. Together we have discerned our common priorities, as Durham Diocese, for 2021-26. Together, and in partnership with others, we will challenge poverty, energise growth, care for God’s creation, and engage with children, youth and 18-25s. We will seek to do this by rising awareness, responding practically, and working together to reform the wider context of each of our four priorities.

We are committed to challenging poverty by working together to address child and youth poverty; responding to isolation, particularly among the elderly; and reaching out and responding to the needs and gifts of asylum seekers and refugees.

We are committed to energizing growth by growing in reach and influence, transforming our communities through the transformation of our churches; growing in depth, strengthening discipleship, serving Jesus by using our gifts in his mission in every part of life; and growing in breadth and number, growing the number of people identifying as Christian.

We are committed to caring for God’s creation by cultivating a shared Christian vision for God’s creation and our call to steward, nurture, protect it, in Jesus’ name, for the good of everyone, everywhere; promoting responsible consumption, choices and behaviour as individuals and churches; and working together to challenge wider environmental indifference and injustice.

We are committed to engaging with children, youth and 18-25s by: developing pathways for more children to become lifelong disciples of Jesus; resourcing youth for mission (and extending our engagement with them); and extending the engagement of 18-25s.

Clearly, what that looks like will vary from local church to local church, depending on context, opportunity, and resources. The kingship of Christ is not a monoculture, where every community looks the same, but an ecosystem within which unity is expressed in diversity flourishing in mutual harmony. So, all our local churches are called to challenging poverty, energizing growth, caring for God’s creation, and engaging with children, youth and 18-25s, recognizing that this will look different from place to place, and that for any given local church one or other of those four priorities may take the lead. For example, Sunderland Minster has a well-established ministry of reaching out and responding to the needs and gifts of asylum seekers and refugees; whereas St Nicholas’ is well-placed to respond to isolation, particularly among the elderly.

These four priorities are not about driving us to do more but helping us clarify what we do and focus on what Christ the King is doing in and through us, and so to set aside distraction. And so, having looked at what it means in practice to proclaim that Christ is King in our context, let us draw on what John wrote to the churches at the turn of the first century. He writes:

‘Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come’ [that is, Jesus] ‘who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.’

Christ is King, and we are his kingdom, a kingdom began, continued, and brought to completion in Jesus’ acts of loving us, freeing us from all that holds us back from that love, and making us into something we were not, previously. “God loves you” is a key part of the Gospel, but it is not the whole Gospel: God loves you, brings freedom to you, and makes you into something new. He makes us all priests for the world—to bless our communities in Jesus’ name, for the transformation of us all, as we say in Durham Diocese—and within that royal priesthood we believe, in keeping with many but by no means all Christians, he calls some to be priests for the church. But we are all loved and freed and made to serve God as priests, proclaiming blessing in word and service.

And we do so as those who know both grace and peace. Grace, the gift given us by Jesus; the gift we are, given to others, to the church and the world. And peace, that centering wholeness that guards over our hearts and minds, that keeps our will aligned with Jesus’ will (which is perfectly aligned with his Father’s will) and enables us to see as he sees and hear what he hears. As we work out what it looks like in this local context to challenge poverty, energise growth, care for God’s creation, and engage with children, youth and 18-25s, the knowledge of grace and peace—or of a growing distance from them when we lose focus—will keep us rooted in Christ the King.

Today is the Feast of Christ the King. We end the Church year reminding one another that, despite all appearances to the contrary, whether disunity within the Church or rising tides of secularism and nationalism in the world around us, God is at work through Christ in and through us. Reminding one another that there is much to celebrate, and the need to be strengthened in word and sacrament for the much more yet to come. Reminding ourselves that he who began a good work in us will bring it to completion. And next Sunday we turn once again to Advent and preparing our hearts to be ready for his coming again in glory.

Today is the Feast of Christ the King. The table is set. Come, all who are hungry. Come, you who are thirsty. Come, and be satisfied. Christ is the host, in every sense. So, come.

 

Feast of Christ the King 2019

Lectionary readings: Jeremiah 23:1-6 and Colossians 1:11-20 and Luke 23:33-43

The Feast of Christ the King, as the culmination of the Church year, is a recent occasion, instituted in 1925 by Pope Pius XI, against the backdrop of the rise of fascism. In the face of messianic posturing by Mussolini, and his many heirs, the Feast of Christ the King proclaims that Jesus is both our Lord and King of the Universe. And while nationalism pits us against our neighbours, through this man Jesus all things—all peoples, all communities, all structures of power and society—are completely reconciled to God. All communities are to be blessed in his name. Though the world is in deep darkness, all humanity can know what it is to be rescued from the power of darkness, and, in the kingdom the Father has conferred upon his beloved Son, may share in the inheritance of the saints in light. When the darkness seems deepest, the light shines brightest. And so, the Feast of Christ the King, which brings the Church year to completion, also sets us up to observe Advent, the season of longing for the return of the King.

Our reading from the prophet Jeremiah this morning was written at a time of national crisis. It employs the metaphor of shepherds and sheep, drawing on that great psalm of David, Psalm 23. But whereas there the sheep are led with care, here—in a time when unfaithful Israel has already been dispersed, and the unfaithfulness of their own leaders is set to scatter Judah also—the flock is described as having been driven away and neglected. Therefore, God will both judge the unjust shepherds and bring back his sheep along paths of righteousness. The context is perilous—the valley of the shadow of death—and the LORD, as shepherd, carries with him his rod and his staff: his club with which to drive back predators; and his shepherd’s crook with which to steer the sheep along the path, and pull them back on to it when they fall.

The metaphor transforms: the days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. This king, then, is a Branch, is synonymous with [the rod of] justice and [staff of] righteousness.

And in our reading from Paul’s letter to the saints in Colossae, we see that this righteous Branch—whom Paul identifies as Jesus—has been raised up on an unrighteous branch, the cross. And yet, this is the means by which God is at work to reconcile all things to him. This king triumphs through self-sacrifice.

Our Gospel reading presents us with a fuller image of this King of the Jews on his throne, which is, in fact, the cross. It is from the cross that this king exercises his reign, deals wisely [in radical forgiveness], and executes justice and righteousness.

The shepherd-king carries a rod and a staff. This king is presented to us with a criminal on his right and on his left. One derides him, and is rebuked—albeit by his fellow criminal. A predator, driven back as it circles the innocent lamb. The other calls out for mercy, and receives the hope of being with Jesus in Paradise—a term that seems to speak of being brought back to the land of promise, steered there along a precarious but nonetheless well-established path beneath death’s shadow, by the just shepherd.

Shepherds, sheep, branches raised up. A cross that is a throne. How might reflection on these passages, set for this Feast day, shape our imagination and empower our living?

We are, of course, in the middle of a General Election campaign; one that, given the number of MPs not standing for re-election, will result in a very different parliament, whatever the outcome. And this General Election is itself set in the context of a time of great and prolonged economic uncertainty and environmental upheaval. As we not only cast our vote, but also hold out a vision for our communities, we might want to ask, of prospective candidates and parties—and of ourselves—how will you bring scattered people together again? How enable communities to flourish? Do the policies you stand for enable the lives of individuals and families and neighbourhoods to be fruitful, or trap them in a shadow existence? And what about the environment? Do our leaders, and prospective leaders, take the environmental crisis, and the impact of climate change, seriously? How committed are they to a green economy?

We might ask, are the proposals you advocate likely to result in those who are fearful being no longer fearful, or dismayed, or missing—invisible, having no voice at the table? Of course, no party has a monopoly on good or bad policy, and no parliament can please all of the people all of the time, but these are questions we ought to be asking. Are our leaders wise? Do they listen to people, seeking to hear their concerns and understand, and take them seriously; or simply to score points against enemies? Do they stand for justice, for the righting of wrongs, for restitution for those who have been exploited? Do they have a track-record of fostering neighbourliness, of helping people to live at peace with one another; or do they promote partisan antagonism?

It is not my place to tell you who to vote for. It is my duty to urge you to consider carefully, and to cast your vote, if you have one. It is also my joy to urge you not to despair, if the outcome of the Election is one you dread. Christ is King of the Universe, whoever sits in Number 10.

And what of us? For Paul, writing to the church in Colossae, his understanding is that we ought to be the locus of God’s life-giving presence. So, how are we doing, and what might need to change? How might the invisible God be made visible in our midst?

Paul’s prayer for those he loved and wrote to encourage was that they might be strengthened to endure with patience, sustained by joy. Not because all was good, but precisely because it wasn’t. Patience and joy are the fruit of the Holy Spirit. But thankfulness is the way we play our part. I know of at least one member of this congregation who has taken upon themselves the discipline of giving thanks to God for three things every day. Perhaps that is something more of us might adopt?

We might, also, pray for our politicians. Those who rule, Paul says, have been created through Jesus and for him. That doesn’t mean that they exercise Jesus’ reign of justice and righteous, but that this is what they were made for. So, pray that all of our Members of Parliament would come into that for which they were made. Pray that they might know what it is to be reconciled to our Father, not withered by the wrath. When we read the papers or watch debates, step back, and turn again to Jesus. If it helps, use a prompt. Hang a cross on the wall above your tv, or carry a holding cross in your pocket. That in the darkness of this world, we may look upon the glory of Christ the King, and renew our hope. Amen.

Christ the King, 2018

Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14 and Revelation 1:4b-8 and John 18:33-37

The Book of Daniel presents a series of apocalyptic visions. Apocalypse, as a genre, is concerned with the rise and fall of nations in the course of history, and where on earth God might be in it all. Daniel is set in the years of the Exile, when the civil service of Jerusalem found themselves as migrants offering their administrative gifts within the civil service of the Neo-Babylonian, Median, and Persian empires. But the scope of the book also takes in the return home, when Jerusalem and the temple were rebuilt, only to be desecrated by the Hellenistic Seleucids—and, later still, occupied by the Romans. Where is God in this mess?

In Daniel’s vision, God is revealed as an Ancient One, a wise old head judge taking his seat. He does not pass judgement unilaterally, but in conference with fellow-judges; while angels beyond number serve the court in various roles. The defendant is brought in: one like a human being, or, Son of Man. We can presume that the case for the prosecution and the case for the defence are both heard. And then God passes his surprising judgement: reign over the kingdoms of the world, for ever.

The term ‘Son of Man’ is one used of Jesus in the Gospels, along with another term, ‘Son of God’. ‘Son of God’ is a term that refers to the one appointed by God to be the king in Jerusalem (see, for example, Psalm 1). ‘Son of Man’ is a term that (from this vision in Daniel) refers to the one appointed by God to be king over the nations. They are intended to coincide in the same representative of the same community, the chosen people of God. But in Daniel’s vision, the Son of Man is appointed in exile. The interpretation of the vision is this: that though it looks to all the world that God has rejected his people for their unfaithfulness, they have served their sentence and, having themselves experienced judgement, are now restored to be the instrument of God’s rule in the world. It is a delicious irony that, all along, the exiles Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah have been exercising rule over the territories of pagan kings.

In John’s vision in the apocalyptic Revelation, it is the Church that is the defendant. Jesus is the faithful witness (remaining the ruler of the kings of the earth).

In our Gospel reading, Jesus is brought into a court room. The question under consideration is this: Are you the king of the Jews? What is not clearly defined is, Son of God, or Son of Man? King of the Jews, only, or king over the nations? Throughout John’s Gospel, Jesus uses both terms of himself, as well as the catch-both ‘the Son’. It is a dangerous claim, one for which the Jewish authorities eventually throw him under the omnibus…

Today is the Feast of Christ the King. The final Sunday of the church year. The culmination of it all: of Advent and Christmas and Epiphany; of Lent and Easter and Pentecost; of the long months of Ordinary time, in which we live-out what it means to follow Jesus. It all points to the vision of Jesus as the One appointed by God to rule over the nations. To exercise a reign of peace and reconciliation, drawing all things back together again. Despite whatever it might look like on the surface. On the surface, it looks like Pilate is judge and Jesus is defendant; but, in truth, Jesus is witness to the truth: and, following his execution-reversing resurrection, he will be confirmed judge over Pilate and the chief priests, over Jew and Gentile. And his judgement will be to reconcile them in his body, the Church.

The Feast of Christ the King is, in fact, the most recent major occasion in the church year to take its throne. It was instituted by Pope Pius XI in 1925, in order to help Christians live out their allegiance to Christ in the context of Mussolini’s messianic claim to sovereignty. History was tumultuous between the wars; and it is tumultuous in our day, ninety-three years on.

Brexit is delivering for us a future no one wants. Not the Remainers, and not the Brexiteers: plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Can we imagine, confidently, that in all this turmoil behind-the-scenes Jesus is seated on the throne as the One in whom those who are estranged are being reconciled? Will we seek to live out that story?

Can we imagine that those who are migrants and exiles might contribute something good and beautiful; might be a key part of how Christ the King exercises his rule? Will we challenge society to see them as gift from God, not an evil to be exorcised from our home? [The Bishop of Durham spoke on this in his Presidential Address to the Diocesan Synod yesterday.]

Will we testify to the truth, as those whose citizenship is not primarily what is written on the cover of our passport, but what is written in the open books of God?

Today we are once again caught up in the apocalyptic vision, not to proclaim that the world is going to hell in a hand-basket, but to be reminded of our vocation to be the people of God. A kingdom of priests—not just those of us with dog-collars, but all of us, serving the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, our king.

We are caught up, not to be removed from the world, but to be strengthened to go back, back to the places where we are sent. With renewed hope. With eyes to see. With good news to proclaim. With stories to tell. With a king to serve, passing judgement on the nations in the form of reconciliation. The end of the world, as we have known it.

So come, gaze upon the Ancient One and on the Son of Man. Gaze upon the wonders of heaven’s court, set up upon the earth. Then, go in pace, to love and serve the Lord. In the name of Christ. Amen.

Christ the King, 2017

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24 and Ephesians 1:15-23 and Matthew 25:31-46

Today is the Feast of Christ the King, the culmination of the Church year. Today we celebrate that God has raised Jesus from the dead, and set him over all rule and authority and power and dominion—and that God has done this for us, the Church.

But what does that mean? What sort of a king is this Christ, depicted on the throne of heaven in the stained-glass window behind me? How does he exercise his rule? And how does it benefit us, his people? Or what does it mean for those who are not part of the Church?

Ezekiel was a priest, but he did not serve in the temple in Jerusalem. He was one of the generation of his people who were carried off into exile in Babylon. There, they wept, and tried to make sense of what had happened to them. Why had God allowed this to happen? When would God restore their fortunes? How ought they to live in the meantime?

Ezekiel painted a picture for the people. In it, he asked them to imagine themselves as a flock of sheep, dispersed among several other flocks. In time, God himself will come to them as a shepherd, to seek out the scattered sheep, and vindicate the weak and the lean sheep.

Jesus draws on this imagery in his discourse on the sheep and the goats. The context is this: within days, he will be executed. Among his final teaching, Jesus seeks to prepare his disciples for what is to come. In Matthew 23 we see Jesus weeping over the city of Jerusalem, because in rejecting him and his message, the imminent destruction of the city—yet again—will not be averted. In Matthew 24, Jesus goes on to predict the destruction of the temple. While some will see this as the sign of an imminent end to history, Jesus declares that this is not the case: there will be wars and rumours of wars, the rising and falling of nations, the persecution of his followers. He is speaking of history, as we experience it in every generation. And into this history—not after it—Jesus introduces the power and authority of the Son of Man, or Mortal: the term—also borrowed from Ezekiel—by which Jesus referred to himself.

In the light of this, Jesus’ advice is to be watchful of unfolding events while investing our lives in the places where we find ourselves (Jesus uses several parables to convey this teaching, in Matthew 24 and 25). This block of collected teaching culminates with a discourse on the judging of the nations, by the Son of Man, that references the sheep and the goats.

Now, this is one of Jesus’ most misunderstood teachings. It is routinely told to convey the idea that the genuine nature of the faith of those who claim to follow Jesus will be determined based on how they have treated the poor. I have even known Christians who worry whether they will be welcomed by God, or rejected, because on occasion they have walked by a homeless person like the priest and the scribe walking by the man left for dead on the side of the road. But while it is clear throughout scripture that God has a heart for the poor and calls his people to reflect that, even allowing judgement to fall on the nation of Israel when they refuse to hear the cry of the poor, this is categorically not what Jesus is saying here.

Jesus is drawing on the imagery employed by the Old Testament prophets to convey the idea that God would use the Gentile nations to judge his people, but would also judge those empires based on how they treated God’s people. To give one example, Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar appointed Daniel, Hannaniah, Mishael, and Azariah (given new names, Belteshazzar, Shadrah, Meshach, and Abednego) to positions of responsibility in his court. To give another example, Haman, an official in the court of Persian king Ahasuerus, attempted to have all the Jews annihilated (his plot ultimately foiled by Mordecai and Esther).

Jesus takes this imagery of the fortunes of the gentile nations rising and falling based on how they have treated the people of Israel and makes two developments. First, the basis is now not how they have treated the nation of Israel, but the new Israel: Jesus’ disciples, his brothers or new family. Second, it is Jesus himself who will be the judge.

Like the Old Testament prophets, Jesus uses apocalyptic language to describe that judgement. For those of us who are British, because of our cultural heritage of European art, we tend to think of apocalyptic language as describing the judgement of individuals at the end of time; but in scripture it routinely describes the judgement of nations through the unfolding of history.

We read these passages on the Feast of Christ the King because they inform our understanding of what sort of king Jesus is, and how he rules. And in this Gospel passage we see that Jesus exercises his rule through the deployment of angels, or spiritual beings, with responsibility for different nations. Where nations welcome the Church, they enter-into a share in the blessing of the kingdom of heaven. This is very much our vision in Durham Diocese, where we see our purpose as the church as being to serve our communities for the blessing and transformation of us all. Jesus is king over all for the Church, but the blessings of the kingdom of heaven are not restricted to the Church. They will come as a surprise to some—not at some future time, but today, for children, women and men of goodwill, Friends of the Minster and of all our churches throughout the diocese and beyond.

On the other hand, where nations persecute the Church, imprisoning disciples, or denying them fundamental rights or opportunities enjoyed by everyone else, Jesus will instruct his angels to withdraw their protection, leaving that nation vulnerable to the tendency nations have demonstrated throughout history to destroy one another. Empire after empire lies utterly burned to the point of no return to the unfolding pages of history.

What, then, might this discourse have to say to us today? Well, a third of our congregation is Iranian: men and women who have fled here because the Church is persecuted in Iran. As we listen to Jesus’ words, and celebrate that God has raised this Jesus from the dead and seated him over all rule and authority and power and dominion, for the Church, can we imagine a future in which the regime that has oppressed the Church is removed from power, and a new structure of government emerge made up of those who have seen the hidden-but-growing Christian community as being good for the nation as a whole? Can we imagine religious freedom in Iran, and our brothers and sisters going home, and us visiting them there? Perhaps an official link between our diocese and a province in Iran?

That is the hope Jesus holds out in this passage. Yes, there will be persecution: you need to prepare for that. But there will also be vindication! Hold fast! I will be at work to do this for you.

And what might this passage have to say to us about our own nation? As a society, we have been less-than-welcoming to those Christians who have fled to us seeking refuge. Might England experience something of divine judgement in however our history unfolds, post-Brexit, over the next decade? Many are hoping for a rosy future; others for a least-worst-case-scenario. Whatever unfolds, Christ the King is at work to vindicate his beloved Church, for the blessing of the wider nation.

In uncertain times, may our hope in that—our hope in him—be renewed.

Amen.