Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

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Today, here at Oak Chapel, it’s Consecration Sunday. All across America, and here, it’s Thanksgiving Sunday. And everywhere in Christendom, world-wide, it’s Christ the King Sunday. Sounds like a lot to consider, but it’s all related. Because if we know that Christ really is King in Heaven (not dead and gone), we will surely consecrate our lives and our possessions to him, and we will surely be thankful all the day long.

This morning’s scripture, from Revelation, emphasizes Christ the King. “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” Jesus says. (the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet) – I am the Alpha and the Omega, who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.” Peterson’s paraphrase is even more powerful, I think: “The master declares, ‘I’m A to Z. I’m the God who is, the God who was, and the God about to arrive. I’m the Sovereign Strong.”

Shelby Foote, to illustrate what an enormous change the Civil War made in America’s self-image, points out that “Before the Civil War people said, ‘The United States are….” After the War they said, “The United States is….” Little words that mean a lot. Likewise, in our faith, there is an enormous difference between saying “Jesus was….” And “Jesus is….” He was kind, and compassionate, and loving, able to heal and to calm the storm. But that’s only “dry-as-dust” history. What’s important, what changes things, is to know that he is what he was. He rules in heaven, today, with kindness and compassion, and love. He still makes people well. And he still calms the waters. Christ the King Sunday reminds us that he was, and is, and will ever be King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
That’s not easy for modern people. We are comfortable locating people in history, “nailing them down” in real space and real time, and understanding them there. But to say that someone transcends space and time, that he “was, and is, and is to be,” that historically and geographically this person is of no fixed address, boggles the mind. Maybe feudal peasants could believe that, but can we? In truth, the question is seldom, “Can we believe?” (We are a credulous people. Like the Queen of Hearts, we “often believe a thousand impossible things before breakfast.”) The honest question usually is, “Can we live as we prefer to live, and believe this or that?” Can we believe that the one who taught and healed in Galilee and died in Jerusalem was there with God at the Creation and will also be there (as the Book of Revelation describes so dramatically) when time comes to an end – can we believe that and stay the same? Wouldn’t such a one demand all our heart, and mind, and strength, and soul?

The enemies of Christ have always understood that to destroy him they must rob him of his timelessness. I have just finished ‘s book, The Divinci Code. It’s a wonderful read, and you learn a lot of interesting things reading it, but it’s terribly (almost unbelievably) flawed in its understanding of the Bible and of church history. (What’s not downright wrong is pure conjecture.) It’s just the latest version of an old effort to strip Christ of his divinity, his kingliness, and to understand him only as a man. Then we can control him. Then he will not be able to control us. Then we won’t have to love our neighbor. Then we won’t have to be thankful. Then we can grab everything for ourselves and keep everything to ourselves. If Christ were only a man.

In St. Petersburg, Russia, the little old ladies (the babushkas), in their thin sweaters and cotton stockings, shuffle off in the cold, damp mornings, to their incense-smoky churches where they light candles before portraits of their favorite saints, and talk quietly. In the years since the fall of communism we have learned that there were more Russian Orthodox believers murdered under Stalin than there were early Christians martyred under the Caesars. Yet Christ remained King. When the Russians began to restore their magnificent old churches, which had stood in disrepair for seventy years, those same old ladies went up into their attics and brought down chalices of pure gold, and heavy crosses encrusted with diamonds and rubies and pearls, the original altar pieces. They had hidden them from the communists in 1917, and they still had them. Christ was still king. Most of St. Petersburg’s babushkas are war widows, they lost their husbands during the Nazi’s 900 day siege of their city. When the siege ended there were almost no men left, so most remained widows to this day. But Christ is still King. And they, from childhood, were consecrated to him. I saw them there in those churches (which seem so odd to us) and knew they didn’t need credentials. They were, without question, followers of the King.

The values, customs and traditions of this world are different from those of Christ. That’s why Christ’s followers have always walked a rocky road. Some have died; many have suffered, all have sacrificed. But (and here is the odd part) they all have reported a deep satisfaction, even a certain joy, in giving their lives to him. On Consecration Sunday (Thanksgiving Sunday, Christ the King Sunday), we come in for a check-up. Is our consecration, our commitment to this great king all that it should be? If not, can we take a step, grow one step, in the practical consequences of our faith.