Sermon — November 26, 2023
Michael Fenn
At the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year, an armistice agreement took effect between the Allied Powers and Germany, which would lead to the end of the violence of the first world war. Trenches had been carved across landscapes, toxic gasses had clouded the air for months, new horrors and new forms of warfare emerged to claim hundreds of thousands of lives, and left hoards of veterans scared physically and mentally. In the deep grief and turmoil after the war, new political movements and ideologies would arise from the shadows and ashes that were left behind. In Italy, Mussolini would seize power less than four years after the end of the war, giving rise to the first modern fascist government. This would be followed by other fascist and authoritarian movements, in Russia, Germany, and elsewhere around the world. I don’t presume to speak for every single person living in these countries in this period, but I imagine the sense of chaos, the unsettledness, and the uncertainty these changes in government would have brought. I imagine that no matter what political ideology they believed, this period still brought forward fear and uncertainty.
The Pope at the time felt similarly. Three years after Mussolini’s rise to power, and as the reality of this new and dangerous government set in, Pope Pius instituted a new feast day. The Feast of Christ the King, this was a brave and defiant reminder to the faithful that no human government is the true ruler of people. In that new age of ultra-nationalism, of secularization, and authoritarianism, the new feast–the Reign of Christ–served as a reminder of God’s presence and providence even in the face of Mussolini’s regime.
In the ensuing decades, many other global churches would adopt some form of this new feast. In the Episcopal Church we situate it at the end of our liturgical year, so I will also wish you all a happy new year. Liturgically, our year begins with Advent, a period marked by waiting. In Advent, we wait and anticipate the birth of Christ, a moving and exciting time. I love Advent, and do not mean to take away its shine. However, this Sunday serves as an important reminder that even as we go into this season of anticipation, Christ is already present with us. Not only that, but that Christ is already Ruler of the Universe. The Christ we anticipate every year is the same Christ that has already saved in the resurrection, that continues to save even today, and that will continue to save. Throughout all human history of war and peace, feast and famine, none overturns the Reign of Christ.
In our own time, we are also less than a calendar year from the next election in our country. I make no comment on candidates or policy. But, in my own life, elections are a deeply troubling time, a divisive time, and a time where it feels like everything is crashing and burning.
However, it seems that we do not even need to wait a year for the world to feel like it is crashing and burning. The Russo-Ukrainian war continues to claim lives in the service of God-knows-what, the current ceasefire in Gaza seems likely to expire and return to a state of violence, our agricultural zones have shifted because of a warming climate, the MBTA needs like a gazillion dollars to fix itself, and it just seems like everything’s coming up bad news.
In tandem with all this bad news, today is a reminder that we as Christians put stock, above all else, in the saving work of Christ. When our governments are in disarray, when we feel powerless to stop violence, and everything is a mess. Christ is not only with us, but Christ will have the final word, not any human creation, not any human government. The Reign of Christ has happened, is happening, and is still unfolding.
But what actually is the Reign of Christ. It is a tough question to answer, and so it actually has quite a few answers. We see answers in the very many parables we get in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. We also see answers in the many descriptions we get in other scriptures, such as the Epistle this morning. The Reign of Christ has many aspects.
Today, we get a parable that describes one aspect of the Reign of Christ, referred to in this parable as ‘the Kingdom’. Parables are interesting because they rely on analogy and metaphor to describe things that are hard to describe, and typically only describe one facet of the multi-faceted, hard to define kingdom. Today’s parable is no different.
First though, it is tempting when we read this parable, and others like it, to see in it a stark and violent condemnation of a certain group of people. In this case those uncharitable people who pass by the “least of these” and do not offer any reprieve to those suffering. What strikes me in this are two things. The first being that I think everyone in this room actually fits into both camps, every one of us has definitely both passed by someone in need, and every one of us has almost certainly done something for those in need. The idea that we can be sorted in a binary way falls apart at that realization. The second being that, a literal reading of this ignores a host of other scriptures about grace, salvation, and forgiveness–though those are topics for a different sermon.
So, if the Reign of Christ is not about sending bad goats into eternal punishment, what is it about? As we set aside a judicial reading of today’s gospel, we can see a more affirmational reading emerge from the story. What we see emerging is a description of an aspect of the kingdom that describes what kinds of behaviors are going to be held up and celebrated in the kingdom. The acts of feeding the hungry, providing water to the thirsty, visiting the prisoner, are actions that are indicative and will be held up in the Reign of Christ. Those things that divide us, that cause us to ignore the hungry, the thirsty, the prisoners; things like war, division, greed, and apathy will be washed away and unwelcome in the Reign of Christ.
In the Ephesians reading today, Paul says something notable about what the Reign of Christ actually meant for the community of the Ephesians, and also fits into what it means for us today. I certainly think it beats me trying to parse out the complexities of eschatological theology for the next few minutes. Maybe you picked up on it already, but he says this really long sentence about hope and power. To paraphrase and shorten it a bit to make my point, he prays that the Ephesians will come to know the hope to which they are called to, according to the power of Christ, and that this same power is that which resurrected Christ, and seats Christ above all of creation in his reign.
Today, I think we share in that same calling to the Ephesians that is also expressed in the feast day of the Reign of Christ. We are called to hope, just like the Ephesians were–as they dared to live and worship under an empire that would likely kill them if it discovered they were Christians. We are called to hope just like those faithful that lived and suffered under fascist regimes around the world. And just like the many Christians who have come before us that lived through famines, wars, and persecutions. We are called to hope–and to trust in–the Reign of Christ. Which is not a reign of war, division, and strife among peoples, but as we see in the gospel it is a reign where nobody is left to suffer. It is a reign of caring, peace, and the full reconciliation of all creation to God and one another. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.