For those who keep up with such things as liturgical calendars and seasons and dates – which means that you are clergy, or on the worship committee, or a real bonafide church nerd – you will know that today is (waits for an answer). Yes, Reign of Christ Sunday! That’s right, or as our Roman Catholic siblings say, “The Festival of Christ the King.” Many of us in the Reformed tradition have switched to calling it the Reign of Christ because of the problematic language of calling Christ our King.
I realize that does not sound problematic if you have grown up with it, but the reality is that we have no real concept for Kings and Queens apart from figureheads and despots. In fact, our nation was founded on the expectation that we will not have an elite ruling class, that even the highest elected officials must be held accountable to the rule of law, and that there be a separation of powers to create checks and balances between each.
Having said that I realize how tenuous and fraught our current political landscape has become, and perhaps always has been. I’m certainly not here to fix that today, but I do want to remind you that we Presbyterians have been in the mix from the beginning – not simply as agitators but as faithful witnesses to the hope of reform.
Let’s put a pin in that for a minute as a reminder that we are, as faithful followers of Jesus, historically and presently opposed to a monarchy, to rule by force without representation, and to governmental structures that deny rights and privilege to some for the benefit of others. All of that is as American as pie and as faithful Paul.
We’ll unpack how that connects with the Reign of Christ and the Kingdom of God in just a minute. Right now I want to draw your attention to another reformer, King Hezekiah. There are two Biblical accounts of today’s story. One is in 2 Kings 18 and 19. The other is here in Isaiah 36 and 37. If you have a good study Bible or if you use a resource like Biblegateway.com you can find other cross-references for some of the other prophets, such as Micah who we heard from last week. Isaiah’s version of the story is less about the events and more about how they fit into what God is doing through them.
Since Isaiah’s version is about God’s activity, I want to remind you of the way God has been active in the narrative arch that our lectionary readings have taken us on this Fall. We started with God’s promise to Noah – and Jackie Cummings encouragement, “Let not your boat be rocked!” – to God’s promise to Abram and Sarah; God’s promise fulfilled through Joseph; God’s formation of the people of Israel through the gift of the law; God’s establishment of the line of David; and finally, God’s command for justice, kindness, and humble partnership with God through the prophet Micah.
There were a few other things that I left out – God’s wisdom expressed through Solomon and a temple prostitute, and God’s compassion doled out on foreign powers (namely, Naman) – but hopefully, the point is clear that God is the primary actor in all of these things, and the moral arch of the story – much like the moral arch of the creation itself – bends toward justice. I realize the word “justice” can be triggering for many, but it is still the business of God to sort out right from wrong, and – as one of the children said last Sunday – to make sure things are fair for everyone.
In the midst of this history of God’s faithfulness, there is a constant tension with the lack of faith of God’s people and those that rule them. Not so with Hezekiah. By the time he hit the stage the Kingdom of Israel had been split in two – the northern kingdom of Israel and the Southern Kingdom of Judah. Israel had been overrun by Assyria, but Hezekiah’s father had cut a deal to keep them safe. Unlike his father and those before him, Hezekiah – warned by Micah and Isaiah, and maybe even inspired by Isaiah’s description of the peaceful kingdom – tore down the sacred poles in the high places and restored temple worship. He even got rid of the pole that Moses used to chase away snakes in the wilderness because people were worshiping it!
Now, we don’t know if he had some kind of crisis of faith that led to this or if he was just the first of many to see that who they were and what they were doing was not lining up. Regardless, the conflict we read about today was the result of his reforms, not the cause. King Sennacherib got wind of it and sent out the Rabshakeh. Now, I’ll admit that at first, I presumed this guy to be like Jason Momoa or Dwayne Johnson, a tough guy warrior with legions behind him. Turns out that Rabshakeh just means “cupbearer.”
He was more like the lawyer of a mob boss. Let’s say he’s played by James Spader or somebody who could craftily deliver the line, “My employer wishes to avoid any unfortunate event in which you, or your children, are harmed. We would hate for that to happen.” He goes on speaking in their tongue to show both welcome and mastery as he begins with “don’t trust Hezekiah” then moves to “your God can’t save you,” and closes with the same promise delivered by Micah and Isaiah, “everyone gets their own fig tree and vine.”
He was crafty, though maybe not original. The promise of prosperity at the hand of a strong man is as old as the hills. Maybe you’ve heard it, too. The thing he did not count on was that these people had a different concept of God than he was used to. They had a concept of God that said if they were conquered, that was still God’s will. They had a concept of God that said that even those opposed to the will of God could lead them closer to God – that is, assuming that they do not mistake the one who overpowers them with the goodness of God.
In fact, their King had a concept of God that required a response of repentance before God in order to be sure that he deferred to God as the sole source of salvation! The good news is that it worked. Sennacherib was defeated by a rumor, and we find out in Kings 19 that he is actually “Good Fellow’sed” with pointy things by his own children – sad but true.
Now, I don’t think this text can apply in any literal sense to our geo-political realities (as I mentioned earlier, we are not unaffected by the political landscape), but our readings do ask us to consider what our concept of God might be in the face of conflict and devastation and in light of the command of Jesus to be as a city on a hill. Jesus certainly would have known about Isaiah's description of a place where people seek the wisdom of God – which inherently results in the beating of swords into plowshares.
He would have known that the people he preached to lived in poverty for generations. Even while streets and aqueducts and civil order gave the appearance of peace, they lived under the threat of violence and they were poised for rebellion (in fact, the Maccabean rebellion broke out just after his death and resurrection). That’s why Jesus talked about God’s Kingdom coming near and being present. He wanted them – and us – to know that it was as close as the air you breathe, and you can taste it and see it when you live like you care about others as though they are your next of kin.
You may have heard me use the term “kin-dom” before in place of “kingdom.” It’s a turn of phrase that comes from Mujerista Theology, which was first developed in the 1990s by Cuban-American theologian Ada María Isasi-Díaz who wrote that “Kin-dom is intended to reflect a modern understanding of God’s activity in and through Christian communities, connoting inclusion, care, mutual support, solidarity, and unity in an ethic that calls us to treat one another as family.” Of course, it only took 20 years for this kind of thinking to even make it close to our liturgy and I can guarantee that I would get complaints – and confusion – if I just up and changed the Lord’s prayer to “Let thy kin-dom come.”
It bears thinking about, though, and I posted an article about the pros and cons of either approach on our Facebook page in case you want to go further down that rabbit trail. It was written by the Rev. Dr. Bridget Green during her days as a professor of the New Testament at Austin Theological Seminary. I’ll give you just a taste.
She writes, “On the one hand… the kingdom of God is an interplay of God’s activity and human participation to manifest a gospel of love, justice, reconciliation, and healing. On the other hand, kingdom language includes the specter of humiliation, subordination, punishment, exile, colonialization, sickness, poverty, as well as social, political, economic, and spiritual death. From the teachings, preaching, and actions of Jesus and later his disciples and then the church, the kingdom of God represents a promise of transformation in relationships among humanity, throughout creation, and with God. Yet, two millennia later, real-world kingdoms overwhelmingly represent peril, pain, hurt, and destruction. Add to that the inherent patriarchy of “kingdom,” and the peril associated with “kingdom” language remains clear.”
Her point is not to cancel the word kingdom. It is to be aware of the baggage and the context and the expectation of Jesus that we who say that we follow him demonstrate something different in the world. Are we doing that? Yes or no? Through meals on wheels; Living Water in Cuba; the pollinator garden; readiness for active response to natural disasters; special offerings to contribute to greater needs; and sometimes just a hug, or a text, or being present when someone feels like the Rabshakeh of Sennacherib is knocking on the door. We. Show. Up.
Not just here, but in the community. This building is an easy landmark. During December the lights will be in the window, and it will be a beautiful witness to the community. I tell you this, though, it’s not because of the architecture. It’s because of the love. The Apostle Paul said in 1 Corinthians 13:1, “Without love, I am a noisy gong and a clanging cymbal.” Without love, we are like one of those weird little wind-up monkeys.
As we consider the reign of Christ, the welcome and warmth of the kin-dom, and the kingdom, let us not forget to repent of all selfishness and trust in God’s grace. Let us then, and only then, show the world who we are – like a light through the window on a darkened night – and all to the glory of God. Amen
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