A pastor ran into a parishioner at the post office the day after Thanksgiving.  The parishioner said to the pastor, with a note of hope in his voice, “It’s the end of a long holiday weekend, so I guess you’ll be preaching something nice and light on Sunday, right?”

 

Hmm, something nice and light.  Well, believe me, it’s tempting…Based on the number of empty pews I see, people are either out of town or still sleeping off the effects of all that triptophan from their turkey.  Yes, it would be nice to get up here and preaching something “nice and light.”  And you’d probably let me get away with it!  But the lectionary passage for today won’t, I’m afraid.

 

Here we are, a week away from Advent.  The Christmas decorations have been up at the mall for weeks.  Santa has begun to make appearances.  We’re preparing for the Incarnation, and yet – in our scripture lesson today, we’re reading about the Crucifixion.  It is jarring to be confronted with a Good Friday passage as we hover on the brink of the Advent season, nestled between the feel-good holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

 

But today is a transitional time; it’s the last Sunday of the church year, and we stand at the threshold between endings and beginnings.  Indeed, it is a transitional time not just for the church, but for the nation and the world.

 

The lame duck congress is wrapping up its work, and in a few weeks the Democrats will become the party in power.  The Secretary of Defense is being replaced, and there is the hope that it will mean a solution to the war in Iraq, which continues unabated.  Rocket attacks threaten a fragile ceasefire in the Middle East this morning.  The debate over gay marriage continues here in Massachusetts, and differing views over homosexuality are dividing churches and denominations throughout the country.  We do not go gently into this Advent season. 

 

It is perhaps not unlike the period in history, three-quarters of a century ago, when Christ the King Sunday was first observed.  Benito Mussolini had recently come into power in Italy; the Nazi party was growing in popularity under Adolph Hitler, who was teaching people to hate Jews, homosexuals, the disabled, and anyone who did not fit into his vision of a master race.  The world was about to be embroiled in the cataclysm of world wide war and the horror of the Holocaust.

 

Pope Pius XI (11^th), a survivor of WWI, wanted to show the world that there was an alternative to such abusive power.  And so in 1925, the church decided to introduce a Sunday on which Christ would be proclaimed King, to show a different kind of ruler and a different way to reign.

 

Christ the King Sunday is like the last chapter of a good book, in which the entire story is tied together.  It is the story of God, revealed in Jesus Christ.  It is the story of the One whom we await during Advent, whose birth we celebrate at Christmas, whose sacrificial love we meditate on during Lent.  It is the story of the One whose crucifixion and death we mourn over during Holy Week, whose Resurrection we share at Easter, whose Spirit makes us one at Pentecost, and whose call to follow is central to all the other Sunday in the church year.

 

Christ the King.  It is an image that doesn’t fit if we think only in secular terms.  And the kingship of Jesus is radically different from earthly monarchs.  But Jesus is always turning our worldly values and concepts of power and privilege upside down.  He is a friend to tax collectors and sinners; he touches and eats with those considered unclean; and he says things like, “The last shall be first…,” “The humble shall be exalted…,” and “The meek shall inherit the earth.”

 

Rather than focusing on power and wealth, Christ the King is humble and seemingly powerless.

He rides into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday not on the mighty steed of a powerful monarch, but on a humble donkey.  Instead of being coronated, he is scorned as “King of the Jews” and challenged: “If you are a king, save yourself.”  Jesus has power, but it is not of swords and fear and hatred.  It is the power of God’s Truth.

 

Instead of commanding an army to advance his message, he commissions a straggly band of common people to spread the gospel of peace and love.  And rather than expecting royal treatment, rather than demanding that people bow before him, Jesus kneels before others in servanthood, to wash their feet, cool their fevered brows, touch their sores, and ease their pain.

 

He ruled with love and justice and service; his royal robe was a towel; his crown was made out of thorns; the only throne from which he reigned was a cross.  And the kingdom he proclaimed was different than what people expected.

 

In a day when many wanted a military power to challenge the tyranny of Roman rule, Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a tiny mustard seed…,” “The kingdom of God is like yeast hidden in dough…,” The kingdom of God is like a hidden pearl…,” “The kingdom of God belongs to the poor and to little children and must be received like a child.”

 

No, the kingdom of God was never quite what people thought it would be, nor was it where people thought it would be located.  The Gospels describe the Kingdom of God not as a fixed geographic place or an area of land that could be divided or limited by borders.  Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is within you,” and he rules within and through the hearts and minds of all who follow him.

 

The kingdom of God is a relationship – it is within, and among, and in the midst of us; it is wherever God’s forgiveness and mercy are felt and lived out among us.  It is wherever God and neighbor are loved.  It is wherever there is reconciliation and healing, wherever the hungry are fed, the lowly uplifted, the stranger welcomed, and injustice fought.

 

And whenever we are reminded that we are beloved children of God, we are drawn into the kingdom.

 

So what does this Christ the King Sunday mean to us?  Christ’s kingdom has nothing to do with power, honor, or wealth, and everything to do with living our lives for others.  The kingdom Jesus wants us to establish is not a kingdom of power or domination, but one of service to the least of our brothers and sisters, a kingdom of self-giving love, a kingdom of unselfish generosity.  Christ’s life on earth was lived for others, and we are called upon to do the same.

 

Each Sunday is, in a sense, Christ the King Sunday, for each Sunday we pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”  And we also pray “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” – we ask God to forgive as we forgive others.  I urge you to pay attention to these words as we say them together each week, for in this prayer, we are asking for – and expecting – Christ’s realm to take shape in our lives and in the lives of others.

 

Today, on this last Sunday of the church year, we come to the fulfillment of the Gospel story.  And between the cradle and the cross, Jesus has shown us – once again – a way of living that calls for a change in our own lives.  Over this past year, we have heard what it means to follow Jesus, what it means to share the Good News and to be the body of Christ carrying compassion and justice to the powerless and marginalized.  And beginning next week – just in case we haven’t entirely gotten the message – we’ll have a chance to hear it all over again.

 

Beginning next Sunday, we will await the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger.  We will once again sing the familiar carols that proclaim “Peace on earth, goodwill toward all.”  But that peace we sing about – it begins with us, right here in our selfish, cynical little hearts.  This is where the Kingdom of God lives, and if peace doesn’t begin with us, then there is little hope for our big, frightening, changing world.  Because this is where God’s kingdom of forgiveness and reconciliation and love begins.

 

Yes, today is an ending.  But it is also a beginning.  A new start; another chance; one more opportunity to hear God’s story and to change our hearts and our lives.  I pray as we enter upon another Advent season of hope and expectation – and another season of Christmas buying madness – that we take a look back over this past year and gather up what we have learned of Jesus’ life and ministry, and his death and resurrection, that we may live out the message of love and hope and peace of the One who will soon be born among us once again.  Amen.