“Then
Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.’” (Luke
23:34)
Several times in my theatrical past I had the bizarre pleasure of working with a brilliant but totally eccentric lunatic named David Perry. David was one of the senior tutors of the British Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts and a wonderful—if completely unpredictable and quixotic—director of classical theatre. He frequently flitted back and forth between America and the UK. Don’t get me started on David Perry stories—the man was nuttier than squirrel poop—but I must say I learned a lot from him.
I recall taking one of David’s classical acting courses and watching him demonstrate to a timid student how to play a Shakespearean king. Nobody was as grand, elegant, or flamboyant as David, and I doubt he’d have any trouble passing for royalty. He even boasted (I suspect after he’d made a careful perusal of Burke’s Peerage) that he was, himself, something like seventy-fifth in line to the throne of England. I entertained myself with the notion that, should seventy-four British aristocrats meet an untimely demise, the British public would be in for one wild ride with David as their king.
One of the students asked David if the British monarch had any actual governing authority. He informed us the monarch still possessed two sovereign powers—the power to grant pardon and the power to bestow honors.
In the gospel lesson appointed for Christ the King, Year C (Luke 23:33-43) Jesus appears at his least regal if judged by the standards of this sinful world. Here is the Lamb of God hanging helpless, impaled on a piece of wood to be scorned and ridiculed and left to die as an outcast and a criminal. Crucifixion was the punishment for those the Romans didn’t view as being quite human enough to deserve a more dignified or humane form of execution. A Roman citizen like Saint Paul, if found guilty of a crime (as Paul was), could be swiftly beheaded. Disgraced aristocrats even had the option of committing suicide. There was nothing so swift or painless for foreigners and peasants. The criminal justice system, then as now, was always more lenient for the wealthy and well-connected. A pesky Galilean like Jesus was not only put to a gruesome death, but one which involved the utmost shame. The sign reading “This is the King of the Jews” is meant as a disdainful mockery of both the condemned and those who called him Lord.
And yet, it is here in this moment of weakness, pity, and horror that Jesus’ royal authority is most on display. The King has the power to grant pardon, which Jesus does, not only for the penitent thief, but for all of those who have participated in his execution. “Father, forgive them,” he says. Additionally, it is the King’s prerogative to bestow honor. Jesus does not offer the un-named thief a knighthood, but he promises this dying man that he will soon have his portion in Paradise. The King remembers the sinner and grants him full citizenship in the Eternal Kingdom.
Even one who is a king in name only has the power of presence. During the London blitz in World War II King George VI and Queen Elizabeth were sequestered away from London each night for their protection. Every day, however, they returned to their bomb-damaged residence and made frequent personal tours of the devastation caused by the bombing raids on the city. The king believed it was important for the people to see the monarch was with them, that he cared about them, and that he was enduring some of the same hardships. The king had to show up. From the cross Jesus shows up for us. Here Jesus shares all of our hardships—betrayal, abandonment, failure, physical pain and weakness, humiliation, helplessness, and impending death. This is where Jesus meets us. This is where the royal presence is felt.
As loyal subjects of the King, we possess the royal authority and can exercise the King’s power in the King’s name. We each have the power to grant pardon to those who have sinned against us. We can forgive. We can let go. We can decide to be reconcilers and not blamers or grudge-holders. We also have the power to bestow honor. Whenever we decide to look at another human being and see Christ in them—the loving and the suffering Christ—we honor them. We honor them when we care for their needs, when we work to insure they are treated with justice, when we are willing to say to another, “You matter to me because you matter to Jesus.”
Finally, we have the authority to show up as the King’s representative. We can be with one another in sickness, death, divorce, depression, job loss, or everyday confusion. We can do some grocery shopping, give a ride to the doctor or to the airport. We can help paint a house or move a houseful of furniture. We can make a meal, watch some kids for a few hours, shovel a walk, or rake a lawn. In all of these tiny ways we exercise a royal ministry of presence. We show up. It’s what our King does, and what He models for us.
Jesus passes royal power to the Church. We have his power to forgive and pardon, to bestow honor, and to see even in our weakest moments—and, perhaps, only in such moments—where our real strength lies.
A blessed Thanksgiving to you, dear friend, and an inspiring Advent season!
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