How many of you are aware that today marks the end of the year? Don’t worry, you’ve still got 30 shopping days before Christmas, but today does in fact mark the end of the Christian year. And next Sunday, as we begin our Advent celebration, we begin a new Christian year. I suspect that many of you, like me, upon coming to the closing of each year reflect back over the last twelve months, considering all that has happened in that time—the good, the bad, and the ugly. And in a sense, we do that at the end of the Christian year, too. We have set aside this day in particular in the life of the church to celebrate the reign of Christ our King; to recall the amazing ministry and work that Christ has done and all that is yet to come.
Christ the King, we think, wonderful! And suddenly our minds are filled with visions of kings; adorned in elegant purple robes, resting upon a massive golden thrones, surrounded by eager servants answering every beck and call. The king is the one who rides the white horse, destroying enemies and flaunting every victory. The king holds extravagant parties for the ruling elite of his kingdom and serves lavish foods in abundance. The king is the one who arranges marriages and passes judgment, all with the aim that his kingdom will grow. This is why kings are revered—they reign with a mighty hand and great power!
Yet our passage from Matthew this morning tells a different story, when it comes to sorting out who Christ the King is, doesn’t it? He is passing judgment as kings often do, but we sense right away that this is a different sort of judgment, don’t we? Here we see the Son of Man, indeed enthroned like a king, and yet like a shepherd separating sheep from goats. Now, you may or may not be aware that in the Ancient Middle East, shepherds were just about as far from kings as you could get on the social ladder; if kings were at the top, shepherds were most certainly at the bottom. They were the undisputed “armpit” of society—poor and essentially homeless, just wandering the countryside with their flocks. They had no friends, really, they’d pass the time by talking to their flocks. Shepherds prefer sheep because they are more valuable in the marketplace, but goats are necessary, too. And so, each evening, as the sun dropped to the horizon, the shepherds would busy themselves separating the sheep and the goats. The sheep were left in the open field, while the goats, without the warm coat of wool, were gathered together in some sort of shelter that would protect them from the wind and cold of the night.
So it is that this shepherd-king described by Matthew separates his own flock. All nations are brought before him and, like the shepherd in the field, he pulls the highly favored sheep to his right hand, but places the goats on his left. “Of course,” we think, “the king must destroy his enemies and exalt the wealthy barons!” But once again, our worldly visions of a king don’t quite meld with the actions of this shepherd-king. Christ the King, the Son of Man, turns to the sheep on his right and says you are exalted, not because you are most valuable and bring me the most money the marketplace, but because you fed the hungry, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, healed the sick, and visited the imprisoned. The sheep were surprised; they had no recollection of ever doing any of those things for the king, why would he exalt them when they have never served him? And then the king surprised them again, “When you have done it for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you have done it for me.”
There’s a wonderful story among Russian Jews about a very special rabbi. In a small Jewish town in Russia, there is a rabbi who disappears each Friday morning for several hours. His devoted disciples boast that during those hours their rabbi goes up to heaven and talks to God.
A stranger moves into town, and he's skeptical about all this, so he decides to check things out. He hides and watches. The rabbi gets up in the morning, says his prayers, and then dresses in peasant clothes. He grabs an axe, goes off into the woods, and cuts some firewood, which he then hauls to a shack on the outskirts of the village. There an old woman and her sick son live. He leaves them the wood, enough for a week, and then sneaks back home.
Having observed the rabbi's actions, the newcomer stays on in the village and becomes his disciple. And whenever he hears one of the villagers say, "On Friday morning our rabbi ascends all the way to heaven," the newcomer quietly adds, "If not higher."
“Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” We are products of a world in which success is measured by the paycheck you earn and the house you inhabit; the bigger, the better. It’s hard for us to imagine success defined in any other way, especially when it involves those without big houses and big paychecks. And yet, that is the way of the kingdom of God. The goats, too, are surprised, when the shepherd-king reveals to them that they are condemned because they never bothered to serve the stranger, the hungry, the homeless, the sick, or the imprisoned. And the truth of the matter is, we might be surprised to hear that we are probably a bit more like the goats than the sheep simply because we are so immersed in the culture of modern America. Yet, what we need to hear today is that God’s kingdom will not be at all like the world we know, far from. And when Christ takes his seat on the throne as King of Kings and Lord of Lords, we need to be ready. Unless we want to be unpleasantly surprised, we have to start changing our lives now!
I want to share a parable with you from author Doug Mendenhall which should cause all of us to pause and reflect. He writes:
“Jesus called the other day to say he was passing through and [wondered if] he could spend a day or two with us.
I said, ‘Sure. Love to see you. When will you hit town?’
I mean, it's Jesus, you know, and it's not every day you get the chance to visit with him. It's not like it's your in-laws and you have to stop and decide whether the advantages outweigh your having to move to the sleeper sofa. That's when Jesus told me he was actually at a convenience store out by the interstate. I must have gotten that Bambi-in-headlights look, because my wife hissed, ‘What is it? What's wrong? Who is that?’
So I covered the receiver and told her Jesus was going to arrive in eight minutes, and she ran out of the room and started giving guidance to the kids—in that effective way that Marine drill instructors give guidance to recruits. …My mind was already racing with what needed to be done in the next eight—no seven—minutes so Jesus wouldn't think we were reprobate loser slobs, or worse yet, goats.
I turned off the TV in the den, which was blaring some weird scary movie I'd been half watching. But I could still hear screams from our bedroom, so I turned off the reality show it was tuned to. Plus, I turned off the kids' set out on the sun porch, because I didn't want to have to explain Jon & Kate Plus Eight to Jesus, either, six minutes from now. My wife had already thinned out the magazines that had been accumulating on the coffee table. She put Christianity Today on top for a good first impression. Five minutes to go.
I looked out the front window, but the yard actually looked great thanks to my long, hard work, so I let it go. What could I improve in four minutes anyway? I did notice the mail had come, so I ran out to grab it. Mostly it was Netflix envelopes and a bunch of catalogues tied into recent purchases, so I stuffed it back in the box. Jesus doesn't need to get the wrong idea—three minutes from now—about how much on-line shopping we do.
I ran back in and picked up a bunch of shoes left by the door. Tried to stuff them in the front closet, but it was overflowing with heavy coats and work coats and snow coats and pretty coats and raincoats and extra coats. We live in the South; why'd we buy so many coats? I squeezed the shoes in with two minutes to go.
I plumped up sofa pillows, my wife tossed dishes into the sink, I scolded the kids, and she shooed the dog. With one minute left I realized something important: Getting ready for a visit from Jesus is not an eight-minute job. Then the doorbell rang.”
As we celebrate Christ the King today, we need to remember that his is a kingdom not of this world. His is a kingdom that requires a different way of living; that lifts up the lowly and humbles the mighty. And as we reflect back over the past year and think on the Christ we know, we need to consider where exactly we fit in his kingdom.
Jesus’ reign is marked by deeds of love, mercy, and compassion, especially toward those most in need. If we cannot follow the amazing example of our King, then we are basically saying Jesus’ triumph on the cross is meaningless. It means we don't understand the magnitude of love God showed to us as Christ died on the cross! Loving those for whom Jesus gave his life, particularly those who are undervalued, is a primary expression of our love of God and of our experience of God's love for us. We have to give something of ourselves, something of our wealth, our comfort, our sweat and tears, just the way Christ did. And then I believe, I know, Christ will reign as king of our lives and we will experience more fully the power of Christ's death and resurrection. The lesson of the sheep and the goats is that life in Christ’s kingdom is very different. But the promise of the gospel is that life in Christ’s kingdom is far better!
Thanks be to God!
