Last month I sent Fr. Charleston on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land through the men’s ministry headed up by Jay Crouse. It wasn’t a perfect time for him to be gone, but I really wanted him to be able to go because it enriches one’s ministry in countless ways. Fr. Chris went 6 years ago, and Fr. Marsden and I have been several times.
When he got back, he told me that a question he asked an Hasidic Jew was whether they have Jews from the Reform tradition of Judaism in Israel. His dismissive reply was, “Reform Jews are of no consequence. You know, they’re kind of like Episcopalians in the Christian faith. They don’t believe anything.”
Of course, he didn’t know he was talking to an Episcopalian. What an inaccurate picture of Episcopalians he had! Or did he? I cringe when someone calls us “Catholic Lite.” “Lite” is good when referring to calories; when speaking of our faith it’s a terrible indictment.
This is the last Sunday of the Church Year. On this day, the year comes to a dramatic close as we celebrate Christ as King. King of what? King of Christians? King of heaven? King of creation?—King of all that is or ever will be, King of the universe. King of kings and Lord of lords. The choir will sing Handel’s immortal setting of that text, which comes from Revelation, for their Offertory Anthem this morning. Christ is head over all.
The designation of Christ as King is a curious one for us Americans. Our picture of kings is not altogether flattering. One might even say that we have an innate distrust of kings. While we enjoy watching the royal family in England, a monarchy in America is unthinkable. Thomas Jefferson, one of the best-known of the founding fathers, said of monarchy, “There is not a single crowned head in Europe whose talents or merits would entitle him to be elected a vestryman by the people of any parish in America.” Mark Twain expressed American distrust of monarchy even more concisely in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: “All kings is mostly rapscallions.”
But the real problem lies not in the concept of kingship, but in the inability of most kings to be what a king should be. To quote another famous American, William Penn, “Kings…should imitate God; their mercy should be above all their works.” God is the model for kings, and Christ is King of kings.
In the Gospel appointed for today we have a vision of Christ coming in glory at the end of time. He’s seated on a glorious throne, surrounded by throngs of angels, and all people from throughout the ages, from every nation on earth, are gathered before him. It’s Judgment Day. He separates them into two groups, the sheep and the goats, the sheep destined for heaven, and the goats destined for everlasting punishment. This picture of the King Jesus as a stern judge, actually sending some people to eternal punishment is unsettling. We want the Jesus who is merciful, infinitely loving and forgiving. This picture of Jesus shows us there’s a point of no return, that what we do here on earth matters eternally.
And what’s the criterion for deciding whether one is a sheep or a goat? The showing of mercy to those who come to you in need. Not only that, Jesus tells us that in showing mercy to the needy we are actually showing mercy to him; and in withholding mercy to the needy, we withhold mercy to him. Even as you feed the least of the hungry, give drink to the least of the thirsty, visit the lowliest of prisoners, you have done it to Jesus.
It seems so simple. Our eternal destiny rests on such a simple thing. We have experienced mercy ourselves—our sins have been forgiven through the atoning sacrifice of Christ on the cross. St. Paul, in his Epistle to the Romans, states that “God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” We have accepted him as Savior and Lord. Now we must live our lives with mercy as our prime directive. Our lives are to show the love of Christ, and as we show that love of Christ we actually meet him.
H. King Oehmig tells a legend about St. Francis of Assisi, who was riding his horse on his way home one day. Struggling with God and the call on his life, yet still enjoying the benefits of being a rich man’s son, he felt his horse shy under him. He looked up to see the most feared sight in the 12th century world—a leper.
Fighting down his fear and loathing, Francis dismounted, went to the leper, and put some money in his hand. Then, impelled by what he regarded as the unseen power of Christ, he took the leper’s hand and kissed it, putting his lips to the leper’s rotting flesh. The leper took hold of him and gave him the kiss of peace in return. Francis reciprocated, then got back on his horse and rode home.
From that day he began to visit the lepers, bringing them gifts and kissing their hands. In his will, Francis wrote, “The Lord led me among them, and I showed mercy to them, and when I left them, what had seemed bitter to me was changed into sweetness of body and soul.
As this Christian Year comes to a close and we look once again toward re-experiencing the earthly life of our Lord, we do well to reflect on what we mean when we call Christ King. Let this part of the Episcopal Church, the only part that we can really influence, be known for our great faithfulness, our devotion to following our Lord Jesus Christ as King of kings and Lord of lords, our generosity to the mission of Christ in this place, and our devotion to serving the poor.
Sermon preached by the Rev. Fredrick A. Robinson
Church of the Redeemer
Sarasota Florida
Last Sunday of Pentecost
26 November 2017