A Reflection on Christ the King by Abbot Hugh, O. S. B., of Pluscarden Abbey
On Good Friday we listen each year to the Passion according to John.
And that Gospel has a high-point, a climax, one of those moments when
the inner meaning of what’s happening suddenly shines out. It occurs as
Jesus dies on the Cross. Instead of breaking his legs, one of the
soldiers pierces his side with a lance. “And immediately there came out
blood and water.” In that flow from the pierced side of Christ, that
opening of a spring in his body, shines out the whole cleansing and
life-giving force his death and resurrection have released into human
life, their power to transform, to bring about something new here and
how, and hereafter, and for ever.
Now today, the last Sunday of the
liturgical year, the solemnity of Christ the Universal King, we find
ourselves again, by the power of the Gospel we’ve just heard, standing
by the Cross, watching Jesus. We have heard a passage from the Passion
according to Luke. And this passage, too, is a high-point, a climax, one
of those moments when the inner meaning of what’s happening suddenly
shines out, is caught in a single event. Jesus has been crucified. He is
dying. He is among the dregs of humanity, as one of them himself. He is
dying under successive volleys of abuse, jeered at by the Jewish
authorities, mocked by the Governor’s soldiers, taunted by one of the
criminals. He is dying under the only words we know to have been written
about him during his life: “This is the King of the Jews.” And that is
why he has been condemned: he so clearly wasn’t that, wasn’t the
Messiah. And then quite unexpectedly, in the midst of all this, one of
the criminals speaks up. He lets fly at his fellow, admits the justice
of their sentence, affirms the innocence of Jesus: “this man has done
nothing wrong”, and then, quite astonishingly, acknowledges the kingship
of Jesus: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And,
more astonishingly still, Jesus replies, “Indeed, I promise you, today
you will be with me in paradise.”
And here in this exchange, here is
caught and condensed and symbolized the whole meaning of what was really
happening: the forgiving, acquitting, life-giving meaning of the death
and resurrection of Christ, its capacity to take any of us, however down
among the dregs we are, somewhere else, somewhere better, here and
hereafter and for ever. “Indeed, I promise you, today I will be with you
in paradise.”
Is Christ a “king” then? Yes, we say, but not in the
sense in which other kings are kings. Yes, we say, but in a different,
higher, transcendent sense. He is, as St Benedict says, the “true King”,
the real king. He is the King of the Jews, in the messianic sense, the
successor of anointed David, and therefore King of the Gentiles too. He
is even, as St Paul was saying, the first-born of all creation, and the
first-born from the dead. He is the universal King, as today’s feast
proclaims him. But what does this mean?
If one goes back to the
origins of kingship, some 5,000 years ago, back to ancient Sumer, to the
marshes of southern Iraq where the Tigris and Euphrates converge before
they flow into the Persian Gulf, or back to ancient Egypt and the banks
of the Nile, and if one looks at the ancient artefacts that picture
kings what one often sees at or under their feet is a crouching, humbled
man (or many). It was threats from outside, it was enemies, it was the
need of cities or peoples for self-defence that gave rise to kings, and
kings were for putting enemies under our feet. Kings were for war. Kings
were for victory over evil.
Is Christ a “king” then? Yes, we say,
but not in the sense in which other kings are kings. Yes, we say, but in
a different, higher, transcendent sense. Yes, we say, precisely when
being jeered at for not being such a king, precisely when under the
heels of injustice, he was showing himself such par excellence. He is
the only king who really, finally, does what, for all our cynicism, we
always dimly hope for from every kind of leader: he rescues us from evil
and guards or restores our paradise. He rescues us, St Paul will
clarify, from our deepest and darkest, our reallest and most threatening
enemies, sin and death, and he brings us into a quite new place, into
new relationships, with the Father, with one another, with the world,
here and now, and hereafter and for ever. “Indeed, I promise you, today
you will be with me in paradise.” Jesus, on the Cross, does the kingly
thing par excellence. He doesn’t have anyone crouching, licking dust at
his feet. He forgives, he acquits, he shows mercy, he bestows. He makes a
criminal a king.
On Good Friday, the power of Christ’s death and
resurrection shines out in the flow of blood and water. Today it shines
out in the last human exchange of Jesus’ life. And as we leave this
liturgical year, we might leave wondering, does it, can it shine out
from us? How can I enter into the kingship Christ gives me? And the
Gospel gives the answer. There is nothing so regal, there is nothing
that so gives us back our humanity, there is nothing that so lifts the
darkness, there is nothing that so brings paradise into our hearts and
the world to Christ as forgiving, forgiving the very people we’d love to
have crouching under our feet, forgiving (at least being ready to
forgive) our enemies, loving the unlovely. For there, par excellence,
Christ is King.
Archdiocese of Philadelphia Choral Festival - "To Jesus Christ, Our Sovereign King"