Christ the King 2020
Ezekiel 34: 11-12, 15-17; 1Cor 15: 20-26, 28; Matthew 25:31-46
If we are honest, I think we have to admit that today’s feast is a liturgical sore thumb, an anachronism. Kings have no real standing in today’s world. Our own Queen is probably the wisest and most astute diplomat on the world stage, and is certainly the only public figure in this country who will openly and unashamedly refer to Our Lord in her national broadcasts, but she is the exception which proves the rule: in most of the world, monarchy is regarded as an outmoded concept.
The way in which the feast was celebrated in the younger days of many of us would also be questioned now. It was a triumphalist feast, with an afternoon procession of the Blessed Sacrament; the monstrance, in my home parish, carried beneath a canopy borne by four stalwarts, the bells at the four corners tinkling away until they inevitably fell off, one by one, with a series of resounding crashes. After we had completed a lengthy circuit of the church grounds, we would return to the church building to enthrone the Eucharistic Christ for solemn Benediction.
I have no objection to processions of the Blessed Sacrament, or to solemn Benediction, both of which have their place in deepening devotion to Christ present in the Eucharist, but at least as far as the readings of the current Lectionary are concerned, they do not fit the mood of the feast as the Church now wishes us to understand it, in an attempt to re-imagine the concept as an alternative to what might have been the better option, namely to abandon the feast altogether.
Next year, Year B of the liturgical cycle, we shall encounter the captive Christ, explaining the nature of His kingship to the cynical and unheeding Pontius Pilate. In Year C, it will be Christ the crucified king, the proclamation of His authority a calculated insult by Pilate both to Jesus Himself and to the Jewish people.
Today, admittedly, the risen and ascended Jesus is shown in majesty as the shepherd king who will return as judge, but note that He has attained this authority only by His identification with the lowest of the low; the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned, the stranger. Had He not first lowered Himself to be present in the suffering people and the outcasts of the world, He would not have been in a position to judge those who fail to serve Him. Perhaps, rather than celebrate with processions and Benediction, it would have been more appropriate if we had headed into town to seek out the poor and the suffering; Christ the outcast who stood in need of Christ the healer.
What then can we do if we are to make something of this feast? We must indeed encounter the Eucharistic Christ, as far as is possible under present social restrictions, but we must then look for Him, not only in the flesh and blood of His Eucharistic presence, but in the flesh and blood of His human presence.
Admittedly, our options may be limited, not only by the conditions created by the present pandemic, but by the general difficulties of ordinary life. Even in optimum conditions, we cannot simply wander into prison to start visiting the inmates, and even hospital visiting is less straightforward than in former days. (Bear in mind too that insensitive visitors are a menace, rather than a comfort to hospital patients, as I remember from my own experience in a hospital bed.)
None of this though, excuses us from involvement and concern. We can use the telephone and social media to keep an eye on neighbours who may be suffering behind closed doors; we can ally ourselves with campaigns for justice; we can give financial support to organisations which seek to alleviate suffering, and to the likes of Aid to the Church in Need, working for persecuted Christians; and we can pray. Christ can always be found in the neighbour of all circumstances, a king whose royal identity is always hidden.
