Christ the King
by Anne Le Bas

A very unusual royal wedding took place this week.  You may have seen it on
the news.  Princess Sayako, the daughter of the Japanese emperor got
married.  What made it unusual was that Princess Sayako married a
commoner.  And because of the ancient rules which govern the Japanese
monarchy, that meant she had to give up her royal status.

Princess Sayako became simple Mrs. Sayako Koruda, wife of a Tokyo town
planner. She lost her allowance as a member of the royal family. She moved
out of the splendour oof f the Imperial palace into a one-bedroom flat. She
lost her royal entourage of servants, as well, and apparently is now having
to learn to shop, cook and clean for herself. It is a huge adjustment to
make.

Of course, all the news reports focused on the sacrifice she was making so
that she could marry the man she loved. Cinderella in reverse, they called
it. “Fancy giving up such a life of luxury and ease!” they said.

But when I looked at the wedding pictures, it didn’t look to me as if
Princess Sayako felt that way at all. I suppose you expect a bride to look
happy on her wedding day, but the Princess looked more than that – she
looked relieved. The Japanese Imperial household is reputed to be a very
rigid and stifling institution – even in comparison with other monarchies,
which is saying something. Strict rules of protocol still govern every
aspect of behaviour. Some newspapers called it a gilded cage, and with good
reason, it seems to me. You could hardly blame her for relishing the chance
of greater freedom and privacy in her new life. Sacrifice? I don’t think
so.

At first sight, the life of kings and queens looks very attractive –
comfort, pleasure,  fine food and clothes. Surely anyone would want to be
royal. But look a little closer at the reality  - living under constant
scrutiny, expected always to be perfectly turned out, always having to
weigh your words and consider your actions - and it doesn’t look as good at
all.

In ancient times it was even worse. Kings were expected to lead their
armies into battle – it was their military prowess that won them the right
to rule.  They were expected, too, to ensure that their nations prospered,
that there was enough food for all. Our word “Lord” is derived from the
Norse “Hlaf-weard” ,  the “Loaf-ward” – the provider of bread. In some
cultures the king even got the blame if the crops failed or the sun
wouldn’t shine – he was supposed to have a special relationship with God.
If things went wrong, it must be his fault. Monarchy, even today, is a
heavy burden, if it is exercised responsibly. Ruling seems to me, even
today, to be one long headache. I can well understand why Princess Sayako
might of the uite happy to give up her position.

This Sunday – the last in the Church’s year - we celebrate the feast of
Christ the King. I don’t know what mental picture that conjures up for you.
Earthly kingship may, at first, seem attractive – full of luxury – but as
we ponder it more deeply we realize that it has a darker and more costly
side. In the same way it is important to be aware of the images of Christ,
the King of kings that we carry around in our mental luggage, and take a
second look at them too. I’ve given you a sheet with some pictures on it –
I hope you can all see one – and I want briefly to consider them tonight,
in the hopes that they might shed some light on what it means to give
Christ that title.

There are three pictures here – some old, some modern – but each represents
a type of image. We could find lots more examples like them if we looked.
They are three different ways in which people over the ages have seen and
portrayed Christ.

The first is a type of picture known as Christ in Majesty. 
In the Eastern Orthodox churches this would be called “Christos Pantokrator” – Christ,
Ruler of all. It’s an image of Christ sitting on a throne, ready to
dispense judgement, often with a Bible in one hand and the other raised in
blessing. He is serenely enthroned in the splendour of heaven. These sort
of images of Christ are very ancient. They portray him in the same way as
emperors and kings tended to be portrayed in the Byzantine empire. This is
power and glory embodied. When the news reports expressed astonishment that
Princess Sayako would want to leave the imperial palace, this was the image
of monarchy they had in their mind.

Next to it is a very different image of Christ. This is what we would tend
to view now as a stereotypical crucifixion scene. This one is by Matthias
Grunewald, painted as an altarpiece for the leper hospital in Isenheim in
the late Middle Ages. He’s tried to paint a realistic picture of a man
suffering. This Christ is a passive victim, helplessly nailed to the cross.
This type of image is called the Christus patiens, 
Christ suffering. It is very familiar to us now, but actually it didn’t appear in Christian art
until the Middle Ages. The first crucifixions of this type come from the
early medieval period  when a much more individual, interior, emotional
spirituality was developing. There was a lot of emphasis on your personal
response to God at this time. When you looked at a crucifixion like this
you were meant to feel pity and love. It evokes tenderness in the viewer.
You become aware of how great Christ’s suffering was, and therefore how
great his love was too. It is a very passive image – a helpless Christ.
This can be a very comforting if you feel helpless yourself – Christ has
been where you are; he’s felt what you feel. But if this is the only image
of Christ you have then you might end up thinking that helplessness  and
victimhood are states which you should just lie down and accept, and that
can be a dangerous thing to think. We may go through dark times. It may
well be the case that there is nothing we can do about them but endure them
at the time, and it is important to know that God is there with us, that he
knows what it is like to feel helpless. But the Resurrection – Christ’s
victory over death – is the promise of God to us that these dark times
don’t last forever – just as Christ rose to new life, we are promised new
life too. It can be easier too to accept victimhood – to say “I can’t do
anything about this situation I am in “ rather than taking the risk of
standing up and fighting.  If this image is the only one we have, we might
think that it is somehow nobler to suffer in silence than to act to change
our lives and the lives of others who suffer.

But there is a third image on the sheets I’ve given you. It’s an odd image –
 one which seems to put together the majesty and suffering which we see in
the first two pictures. Although the version I’ve included here is a modern
one, this is actually a very ancient type of image of Christ. THIS is
the Christus Rex - Christ the King , sometimes called “Christus triumphans” – Christ triumphant.This is the image that goes with today’s
feast, if you like. It was the dominant image of the crucifixion until the
suffering Christ of the Middle Ages took over. It’s very different, and it
gives us a very different message. Here Christ has his eyes open. He is
very much alive, though he bears in his hands and feet the wounds of his
crucifixion. He wears a crown, and he’s not contorted in agony, or slumped
in death, but standing upright on his cross, looking out at us in triumph.
This is not a king who has had everything easy, not some bejewelled,
protected potentate. Nor is he a helpless victim. He is a hero who has
chosen to go into battle for his people, who has taken responsibility for
them, who has challenged the forces of evil on their behalf. And he’s won.

It may not be an image that we find as easy to respond to as the more
emotional images of Christ suffering. But I think it tells us something
about the kingship of Christ which really matters. This Christ has power,
but  he has used it for love. We’re sometimes a bit suspicious of power –
all power corrupts, we say. But power is a gift of God – able not only to
corrupt , but also to heal. The powerful Christ of this image has used his
power to fight on our behalf the battles we couldn’t fight for ourselves,
because we were part of the problem, caught fast in the tangle of sin. And
because he has done so he has won for us a kingdom – the possibility of
living in a new way, as free people. Christ the king looks into the future,
and invites us to look into the future too.

The image of Christ suffering may evoke our sympathy and love. It may
comfort us with the knowledge of God’s presence in our times of trouble,
but this image – the Christus Rex - calls us to action. Christ the king has
won for us a kingdom, but that is not the end of the story. As king he
calls us to live in his kingdom, to make it ours, to bring others into its
freedom too. As the Gospel reminds us, Christian life is not a matter
simply of our own interior private spiritual life, it’s a calling to serve
others as if they were Christ himself. This image, understood properly,
inspires in us the courage and determination to do that.

I’d like to finish with a passage from the Anglo-Saxon poem, “The Dream of
the Rood”, written in a time of hero-kings – when kingship was costly, as
perhaps true kingship always is. In this poem, the cross itself – the Rood – speaks.
“Then the young Hero – He was God Almighty – firm and unflinching, stripped
himself: He mounted on the high cross, brave in the sight of many, when He
was minded to redeem mankind. Then I trembled when the Hero clasped me; yet
I durst not bow to the earth, fall to the level of the ground, but I must
needs stand firm. As a rood was I raised up; I bore aloft the mighty King, the Lord of
heaven; I durst not stoop.”

Christ the King inspires us not to stoop either, but to stand up with him
and face the world. Amen.

(Comments to Anne at annelebas@DSL.PIPEX.COM.)