So, we are at the end of our liturgical year, with the enticing name of Year A. Next week we begin Advent, a new church year, and we will call it an equally enticing name – Year B. Much about our church years are nice and regular: we begin with Advent, enter Christmas, round the corner to Lent, then Easter, with a lot of other things sprinkled here and there, but for the most part, we can anticipate what's coming.
We begin the year with Jesus with a baby. We watch him grow. We watch him heal. We watch him teach. We watch him suffer and die and rise again in glory. We spend all summer sussing out what we're to make of all this. Then, we end with this proclamation – Christ is King.
But what, in fact, does it mean to say that Jesus is King? The questions just build and build. How important is it that he was both fully divine and fully human? How central is the resurrection to our understanding of Jesus as King? And moving beyond this purely academic conversation, how does all of this matter in the midst of our lives in the this world that seems to be getting harsher, and if not harsher, then at least louder, at least scarier? What does it mean in 2020 America to not only claim but actually to confess that Jesus is King?
I, for one, find myself most convinced of Jesus' royalty – not so much because of his triumphs, but rather because of where and how he spent his life. And without a doubt, that runs contrary to how the world today – how leaders today – usually think about royalty.
Like any king whose realm is of this world, Jesus surely held power. Only his power was always on the side of justice for the poor, the downtrodden, the outcast. His power was never self-serving, rather it was always exercised in behalf of others. That is not the way power is typically understood or seen in the world today, not then or at most any time in known history, it seems to me. Indeed, the power that Jesus had led him to claiming a 'sameness' with the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and the prisoner.
No, there is no evidence of the usual definition of power in Jesus as we encounter him standing before the powers of the world, bound in chains. And we finally see that there is a stronger king than Caesar.
This is the king we follow. And I know that I am more likely to follow the one who has been 'down in the dirt' with me, so to speak. I am more likely to believe I can find my way out of the dust and the grime of life if I can follow the one who has come into that place to eat with and teach and love to sinners like me, who has shown that true kingship is not found in royal robes but in caring bandages, not in the gold of the land but in the Golden Rule, not in laws of condemnation but in words of charity.
This is what our church is about.
Now I love me some pomp and circumstance at a Holy Eucharist. As Advent begins and Christmas nears, I want to see greenery behind the altar, poinsettias all over, finally putting aside the green vestments and altar hangings. Gathering together and singing familiar Advent hymns and Christmas carols. Gathering after for holiday desserts with our coffee. And sausage balls. I can't forget sausage balls.
But this year, this is not to be. As colder weather has driven us together in doors and we've let our guard down and frankly done some foolish things, we, in our country, do not seem to be able to keep COVID at bay anymore. And the pandemic is once again spiraling out of control. Even here in Chenango County, the infection rate has grown so fast that our infections, so long steady at a very low level, has grown so fast that infections doubled in just the last month or so.
As a result our bishop has made the painful decision to cease in-person indoor services at least for the rest of the year. My guess is that this will be longer.
We will have to retrench again. And that's ok, because so many of us are in high-risk groups. And it's ok because it allows us to revisit how we approach God in new, more contemplative ways. And it' ok because it allows us to approach in a new way the darkness of Advent, with that little glimmer of light that glows ever brighter as we move forward toward that miraculous birth.
But friends, we made it through Easter, and we've made it through the summer and the Fall, gathering under weird circumstances. And we will make it through Advent and Christmas, and it will be different, and it will be hard on us. And it will be holy. It will be holy.
Because Christ is still King. It will be holy because Christ is King.
And even now, in this Coronatide, we still serve this king. Whether we gather in buildings or at our homes on Zoom or Facebook, Christ is King.
When we show the world what church truly is, Christ is King.
When we wear a mask in public out of love for our neighbor, Christ is King.
When we make calls, send notes, letting our friends and family know we care, Christ is King.
When we pray for the health of our neighbors, of our first responders, of our doctors and nurses, Christ is King.
When we proclaim by word and example the Good News of God, Christ is King.
When we seek and serve him in all persons, Christ is King.
When we strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human
being, Christ is King.
Our time is the wilderness is not yet done, but it is not forever. And even here, in our homes, in our food pantries, in our feeding kitchens, in our hospitals and schools and our grocery stores, and on our computers, we know who we serve.
We serve Christ our King. We serve Christ...our friend.
Amen