The fact that the Church considers it a Feast tells us something, for Feast days are days of celebration. Certainly this is the mood of the Psalmist, who begins this morning’s psalm “Come, let us sing to the LORD; let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving and raise a loud shout to him with psalms.” What king wouldn’t enjoy such a reception? But, in fact, as Seneca (the Greek philosopher and playwright) observed, “The foremost art of kings is the ability to endure hatred.”

If we had to hazard a guess why this is so, it might have something to do with the historical tendency of most kings to take what they want by force, keep most of it for themselves, and give the rest to their henchmen, in return for their assistance in crushing anyone who objects to the proceedings. Unaccountability, treachery, injustice, cruelty, brutality, and contempt for one’s subjects round out the usual catalogue of kingly attributes.

Here in America, we cultivated a special distaste for kings. Our Declaration of Independence devoted no less than 749 words to the description of 29 separate grievances against the Tyrant, King George, not the least of which was this one; “He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.” When called to account, said our Founding Fathers, “our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury.” So deep was his mistrust of kings that George Washington refused the misguided attempt of some of his officers to make him one, deliberately limiting both the term and the powers of the Presidency.

In order to understand the Psalmist’s enthusiasm, in contrast, we have to imagine the worldview of a loose confederation of tribal peoples, struggling for survival in their new homeland, pitted against the powerful and hostile inhabitants already established there. It was only when Israel clamored for a king, like their enemies had, that they became a force to be reckoned with. It bears mentioning that God was not in favor of the proposal, seeing nothing but trouble ahead. When a charismatic shepherd boy named David rose in the ranks to lead Israel to victory against impossible odds, kingship was associated with divine favor. The king became the symbol for the good fortune of the people. He was, quite literally, their savior, specially anointed by God.

Moreover, in the ancient Middle East, earthly kings were often portrayed as shepherds. And, likewise, the shepherd was a popular image for the God of Israel, appearing frequently in its sacred writings, most notably in the 23rd Psalm. So it is not surprising that David, who had actually been one, soon became identified with the Psalmist’s heavenly “Lord”, who led the sheep through danger to places of safety and refreshment.

Unfortunately, even though revered to this day as the divinely empowered model king of Israel, David was soon corrupted by kingly power. Instead of protecting his flock, he began to use them for his own purposes, most notoriously when he sent Uriah the Hittite to the front lines to be killed in battle, so that David could have Uriah’s wife Bathsheba for himself. After David, the kingdom went into slow decline, which was reflected in and hastened by the diminishing quality of its kings. Most of them were false shepherds, exploiting and neglecting their flocks, which led to the disaster of the Exile.

Ezekiel served as a prophet to the exiles. In today’s reading from his prophecy, God declares that the Exile will soon end: “I will seek out my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness…I will feed them with good pasture…I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak…” To accomplish this, God will restore the monarchy, with a righteous king as God’s divine instrument of healing. Like the Psalmist, who would not sing and shout with joy and bend the knee before such a king?

Even before his death, there were many who thought Jesus might be a new expression of this divine kingship, come to rescue the people from the Roman oppressors. His execution was justified by the false accusation that he claimed to be King of the Jews. And Jesus, while rejecting that claim, did compare himself to the good shepherd, that ancient symbol of the king. Like Ezekiel’s shepherd, he sought and rescued the lost, and healed the sick.

After his death and resurrection, as his followers reflected on his life and ministry, they eventually came to believe that he was the shepherd spoken of by the prophets. And because he overcame death and the grave, because his living presence gave people the power to rise above the kingly powers of this world, the early Christians began to think of him as something more than divinely anointed. They began to see him as divine, somehow one with God. In time, they came to believe that God had established him as a heavenly King of kings. It is this notion that Paul explores in our reading from 1st Corinthians, when he writes: "God has put all things in subjection under his feet." In the excitement of the 1st Century, as the Holy Spirit was poured out in prophecy and healing and lives were transformed and Agape love broke down the barriers of race and gender and social station, is it any wonder that this King was greeted with shouts of joy on bended knee?

And so, as we observe the Feast of Christ the King on this day, what song is on our lips? Do we bow down and bend the knee? Does our wonder at his goodness and his beauty, our gratitude for his healing in our lives overwhelm our reserve, overcome our inate resistance to submission, our aversion to being subjects?

Perhaps it would be helpful to consider the King of kings in another way, as superior to ordinary kings not only in power but in character and behavior. Where earthly kings have often been unaccountable, Christ the King does the will of God. In place of treachery, he offers loyalty even unto death. As today’s gospel testifies, Christ the King remedies injustice. He answers cruelty with blessing and brutality with meekness. This King of kings holds his subjects not in contempt, but in steadfast love. He does not exploit his power for personal gain, but (as Paul writes in his letter to the Philippians) empties himself, taking the form of a slave, all for the sake of his people. (The word “king” comes from the Old English “cynn”, related to“kindred”)

Where earthly kings have often murdered their way to the throne, Christ the King assumed his crown reluctantly and only out of obedience to God. Paul tells us in today’s reading that when all things have become subject to Christ , he himself “will also be subjected to the one who put all things in subjection under him.” The King of kings rules at the pleasure of God and relinquishes power when his work is done.

Earthly kings demand servile obeisance, the bowing and scraping and flattery of those who would avoid being cast out of court by telling them they are special. In our gospel, Christ the King requires obedient service of those who would inherit a share of his kingdom. He call us into partnership with him as he responds with love to human suffering. Far from considering himself special, he identifies himself and resides with the least of his subjects, whom he calls members of his family. Finally, as our Collect for the Day makes clear, in bending the knee before the King of kings, we do not accept our own oppression. We pledge joyful loyalty to him so that we “who are enslaved by sin, may be freed and brought together under his most gracious rule”, a rule that does not limit but extends our potential. AMEN