Kings. We really don't know what to do
with them here in America. We say that Elvis was the “King of Rock
'n' Roll” and Michael Jackson was the “King of Pop,” but for
the most part we've done pretty well without them for some 238 years.
Nevertheless, Americans really do love
to gossip about British royalty. Part of us has a grudging awe and
admiration for someone who, by the accident of their birth or through
“divine right,” gets to own an entire country. There seems to be
something magical in the concept.
I've never seen royalty myself, but my
late dear ol' dad, back in his “regular army” days before the
Second World War, had the honor of standing guard for their Royal
Majesties King George VI and Queen Elizabeth when they visited the US
in 1939. Dad thought the queen was a charming and radiant woman, but
he really was unimpressed by the king, whom he described as looking
slack-jawed and confused.
If you've seen the movie The King's
Speech, a wonderful bio pic about George VI, you won't wonder too
much at my dad's impression. It seems that the King was, by nature, a
fairly unimpressive guy. He suffered from a crippling stutter and an
almost equally crippling personal insecurity. He was second in line
to the throne behind his flamboyant and dazzlingly charming brother,
King Edward VII. It was only when Edward's romantic difficulties
forced him to abdicate that George was forced into the top spot—a
position he feared and never coveted.
The British journalist Alistair Cooke
once commented that few constitutional crises were ever more
fortunate for the British people than Edward's abdication. The
faltering and shy George turned out to be a much better symbol for
the war-beleaguered nation than the dashing and charismatic Edward.
George was the king to whom the average citizen could relate—a man
obviously distressed by the nightmare of war, but doggedly
determined to see the thing through shoulder to shoulder with the
rest of the country.
In today's gospel lesson (Matthew 25: 31-46), the King of
Kings exercises his magisterial power to judge between the sheep and
the goats. But, judgment aside, he is a very unimpressive king. He
comes to us hungry like the unemployed dad who arrived at my church
door last week looking for food donations. He comes thirsty like the
thousands in sub-Saharan Africa who lack access to clean drinking
water. He comes naked like the inner-city school kid whose single mom
can't afford to buy her a good winter coat. He comes as a stranger
like the three Afghan women refugees who explained in their broken
English that they were told a church might help them out with living
expenses. He comes sick like the victims of HIV/AIDS, malaria, and
the ebola virus. He comes to us in prison and on parole and addicted
to drugs and alcohol. He comes as a battered wife and an elderly
veteran in a nursing home. He comes as a young girl with an eating
disorder and a young gay man bullied by his classmates. He comes
weak, insecure, lost, angry, afraid, and in millions of different
forms which have no claim on our earthly admiration. But he comes.
And, as his loyal subjects, we are
called to serve him.
The Evangelical preacher and activist
Jim Wallis tells the story of Mary Glover, a poor woman who
volunteered at a food cupboard in Washington, D.C., a mere twenty
blocks from the White House. Mrs. Glover relied on the cupboard for
food assistance herself, but joyfully gave of her time to hand out
groceries to hundred's of disadvantaged people living in the capital
of the wealthiest nation on Earth. Each Saturday before the cupboard
opened, Mrs. Glover led the volunteers in prayer, a prayer which
always ended, “Lord, we know that you'll be comin' through this
line today; so, Lord, help us to treat you well.”
God bless you, my fellow subjects.
Thanks for reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment