And [Samuel] said, “This is the way of kings: they will rule over you, they will take your sons and set them in chariots, on horseback, and running before their chariots. …And your daughters, he’ll take them to make him sweets and dinners and bread. He’ll take your land, your vineyards, your olive groves—the best of them. And he’ll give them to his servants. (1 Samuel 8.11, 13, 14).
Give us a king, the Children of Israel said. It was a practical desire: as charismatic as Samuel was, he was old, his children weren’t going to be heirs to his leadership. They needed someone who could unify the people, to protect their borders, to keep them from losing their identity as a nation.
Here is what kings do, Samuel replies. Having a king meant having a central government with a standing army and a court that could entertain envoys from other lands. They would need wealth to manage those things. They would need people to stand on the front lines of their wars, act as servants and cooks in their kitchens. Having a king meant greed, corruption, and cronyism.
With several millennia between then and now, we have the benefit of seeing how true these words were. We know of kings who robbed and murdered and lined their pockets while their people starved. Any history book will show you the truth of Samuel’s words about kings.
Which makes you wonder why we continue to refer to Jesus as a king.
Christ the King Sunday was established in the nineteen-twenties by the Catholic Church to combat the rising secularism of the time. It was meant as a point in the calendar to acknowledge that all things fall under the dominion of Christ. It is a return, again, to the refrain the Church has repeated again and again: Jesus is sovereign, which means earthly powers are not.
Jesus is our ideal ruler: one who puts service above self-interest, whose concern is justice and whose focus is upon the poor. The title of king becomes aspirational, encouraging human rulers to a higher standard. It is hopeful, reminding us that the powers and principalities of this world are temporary.
Yet, I wonder how much our earthly ideas of rulers and leaders have influenced our idea of the Reign of God rather than the other way around. In a world of uncertainty, of grays and fuzzy edges, how much have we made Jesus an earthly rather than divine ruler?
Jesus, of course, has no desire to become what we might want him to be, the Gospels are clear on this. But our desire for a king, a leader that removes all ambiguities, that makes us feel powerful, that puts our agendas first can have a powerful influence on the here and now.
What does it mean, then, to call Jesus our king? It’s a question we’ll spend Advent exploring, but in this moment we’re called to think about not just the ultimate reign of Christ but what we think that leadership entails. Is it a kingdom that reflects our desires or God’s? Is it a rule of revenge and seeing our beliefs held up as right? Or is it a reign that, perhaps as Jesus ministry did, turns everything upside-down?
Perhaps, as we declare Christ as King, we should think about what that means.
Jesus, all Creation turns to you as the source of love and life. To call you king means to challenge our own notions of leadership in all its forms. Help us learn from you so we might choose wisely those who lead us and, when others look to us for leadership, follow your example, putting the last first and daring to serve rather than be served.