KING OF KINGS

A SERMON FOR THE FEAST OF CHRIST THE KING

When our Blessed Lord stood before Pontius Pilate, patiently awaiting the inevitable sentence of death that he knew would be his, one of the questions Pilate asked him was, “Art thou the King of the Jews?”  Our Lord’s answer to this question has had repercussions throughout history.  Indeed, if mankind had paid attention to his answer, and abided by its implications, history would have been a completely different series of events than the sad repetition of conflicts and artificially provoked suffering that we now look back on.  And indeed, which we still endure today.

“Art thou the King of the Jews?”  For our Lord to have answered “no” would have been a lie.  For whether the Jews would have it or not, he was indeed their King.  But the answer “yes” isn’t quite right either.  It’s only partly right.  It would have implied that his kingship extended only to the Jewish nation, and that too would have been false.  It was not a “yes or no question.”  And so our Lord explained exactly how he was, and still is, King.  “My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence.”  Pilate doesn’t seem to understand this answer, but this much he does get: that our Lord is disputing only that it is of the Jews that he is not the king.  So he persists in his questioning: “Art thou a king then?”  In other words, “anybody’s king.”  And Jesus answered, “Thou sayest that I am a king.  To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth.  Every one that is of the truth heareth my voice.”

Do we hear that voice today?  “Thou, Pilate, sayest that I am a king,” this voice proclaims, “To this end was I born.”  Yes, he says, I am a King.  Not of this world, but King nevertheless.  Indeed, Christ is the King of kings, and Lord of lords.  The true King from whom all earthly kings derive their kingship.  “The firstborn of every creature,” as St. Paul says, “for by him were all things created… whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers.”  All authority derives from this King of kings, and all other kings of the various nations derive their own power from him, and rule in the name of Christ the King.  Or at least, that’s what it was always supposed to be.

Alas, as usual, we human beings have messed it all up!  Let’s remember, kings, for all their fancy robes and orbs and scepters, are still human beings, with all the human weaknesses and foibles common to us all.  But the power of a human king is so great, his authority so supreme over all his land, that to be a king is the greatest secular responsibility it’s possible to have in this world.  And when a king fails to use this power wisely, the repercussions are horrendous for the whole nation.  The duties of a king are first and foremost to govern his people according to the laws of Christ the King—in other words, according to the Ten Commandments and the moral laws of Christ’s Holy Church.  If a king lives up to this greatest of charges, he will be a good and saintly ruler.  We have had a few during the course of history, King Louis IX of France, Edward the Confessor, King of England, St. Wenceslas, Duke of Bohemia, and many more.  Alas, there are others who ruled with less regard to the laws of God, and are the cause of many wars being fought, many lives being ruined, and ultimately, many souls being lost.

In my own country, England, for instance, we have only to think of King Henry VIII, who, in order to satisfy his misdirected lust for Anne Boleyn, saw fit to revolt against the Catholic Church and declare himself the Head of the Church of England.  His daughter, Elizabeth I, was no better, persecuting Catholics and driving them underground, where they had to worship in secret for hundreds of years.  If these royal miscreants had truly pledged their allegiance to the highest King of all, none of this would have happened.  Henry would have submitted to the Church, suppressed his base instincts for the sake of the faith and the good of his nation.  This man had earlier been so instrumental in the fight against the rise of Protestantism in England that the Pope had given him the title Fidei Defensor, “Defender of the Faith.” He could have been one of the greatest kings England ever had.  But he gave in to lust and political considerations, and England suffers to this day.  His daughter Elizabeth I, whose reign is considered today by English Protestants as “the Golden Age,” she too would be far more worthy of admiration today if she had kept the true faith and remained loyal to the one from whom she derived her power and authority, Christ the King.

So many mistakes!  And the result?  So much carnage, so much suffering, so many souls lost for all eternity.

Another gem of a king, perhaps not quite so bad as these two, was George III.  He’ll be familiar to you as the one who mishandled the treatment of his colonists over here on this side of the Atlantic.  Perhaps he might be less blameworthy than Henry and Elizabeth—he was, after all, barking mad for a considerable portion of his reign—but the results were just as disastrous.  The colonists eventually revolted against the abuse, and the authority of the King was rejected once and for all.  A whole new concept of government was established in this new country, a concept that was encapsulated and consecrated in a new constitution.  The U.S. Constitution, alas, is based not on the rights of Christ the King, but rather on the supposedly God-given “rights of man”.  The founding fathers of the United States, the writers and signers of the Constitution, were for the most part not members of the Roman Catholic faith.  Many of them were freemasons, not even Christian.  Clever they may have been, wordly-wise certainly, but followers of Christ the King they were not.

As Catholics living in this great nation, how are we supposed to view our Constitution?  It is highly venerated by the Evangelical Christians, that’s for sure, and adherence to the Constitution is seen as the one essential loyalty that binds our nation together.  As such, it has assumed a lofty role in the running of the country.  In fact it has become the equivalent of royalty in other nations.  While in England, anyone who attains any position of authority, from the prime minister to the local magistrate, must swear allegiance to Her Majesty The Queen, in the United States, from presidents all the way down to the local Sheriff, this same level of allegiance is sworn to the Constitution.  And so we must view the Constitution as having the same authority as a king.  And with that authority comes the same responsibility to govern the nation in the name of God and according to his laws.  This is the Catholic view, and it does not necessarily contradict the nature of the Constitution.  Providing, that is, that the Constitution of the United States is interpreted by man according to God’s law, and applied according to these laws of God and his Church.

What if the words of the Constitution deny one of the laws of God?  What then?  Freedom of religion, for example, is one such article of the Constitution that we, as Catholics, can never accept.  Are we really free, for example, to practice the religion of our choice?  Not if you believe that Christ founded one Church, one path to salvation, his Mystical Body of which he and only he is the Head.  How are we free in God’s eyes to practice a false religion like Islam or Judaism or Protestantism?  Let’s not forget that in the eyes of the United States Constitution, we’re even free to practice Satanism!  Yes, if I worship Satan I’m entitled to the same tax exemptions, the same privileges as I receive as a Roman Catholic.   

Should we then, as Catholics, denounce the Constitution because it appears to deny certain truths of our faith?  If Christ is truly King, can we swear our allegiance to this constitution? No, we must not throw out the baby with the bath water.  We must examine the words of the Constitution at face value, and see if the “precious freedoms” it contains are truly freedoms we are entitled to, if Christ is King.  Insofar as the Constitution provides us with rightful laws, then it is our duty not only to our country but to God himself to obey those laws.  This obedience fulfills our duties to God and country, and in such circumstances the Constitution deserves all the respect and veneration we can give it.

Very often, we must blame the judges who have to apply the principles embedded in the Constitution to specific cases, rather than the Constitution itself.  Particularly the justices of the Supreme Court who sometimes misinterpret the Constitution completely.  Take the open practice of racial segregation, for example, that was the law of the land here for a hundred years, where people of color were segregated, subjugated, and even persecuted.  These laws are now universally regarded as despicable, and yet they were based on the interpretation of the Constitution by a few Supreme Court justices back in the 1800s.  And let’s not forget Roe V. Wade!

Are errors like this the fault of the courts, or does the guilt lie in the Constitution itself?  The whole problem with having a written Constitution instead of a living king is that it is not alive in the times we live in, and depends on the interpretation of individuals who do live in a particular time.  Kind of like the Bible, which Protestants also see fit to interpret according to their own prejudices and the current values of the times they live in.  As Catholics, we ultimately submit to the authority of Christ the King, who is the same, yesterday, today and forever.  And we submit to Christ’s Church on earth, the Church which Christ founded and to which he gave the right to interpret the Bible and it moral code, a Church that was promised the guidance of the Holy Ghost, a Church that is infallible in its interpretation when it comes to the Faith and Morals.  But the Church can’t claim the right to interpret the Constitution infallibly.  It's the prerogative of the State, not the Church.  But alas, the State is not infallible.

What conclusion should we draw from all these interesting considerations, over which, after all, we have no control.  I do not mean to suggest that the Constitution is evil, nor that we do not owe it our allegiance or respect.  On the contrary, it is, de facto, the authority of the land, and it is our duty to obey its laws in principle.  What I suggest to you is that we must treat it with the same respect people have always given to an imperfect king, that we must obey the laws he gives, or that the Constitution decrees, insofar as they are in accordance with God’s laws.  We adhere to the freedom of religion by using that freedom to worship in the right Church.  We even “obey” evil laws insofar as God permits.  For example, we can “obey” the law permitting abortions!  How?  By refusing to have an abortion ourselves for a start, and by refusing to contribute to abortion providers, by voting for politicians who will curtail or abolish Roe v. Wade.  Only if a law forces us to do something sinful may we legitimately in the eyes of God disobey it.  If the law ever forced us to abort our children if we have too many, for the sake of overpopulation, climate change, or some other nonsense, then we must disobey.  If the law ever forces us to be members of a false religion, or forbids us to practice the true faith, then we must disobey.  

Human kings often do not live up to the standards of Christ the King.  Our Constitution and the human judges whose job is to interpret it, are likewise flawed.  Nations should at least strive to live to Christ’s royal will, but alas, with feeble human beings running things, they never will.  What WE, WE here today must remember is that we are in control only over our own behavior, and that compels us to strive to attain the highest of standards.  When nations fail and fall apart, we must not.  We are captains of our own soul—captains but not kings.  Our King is Christ, and we pledge our highest allegiance to him and him alone.  May the King reign, for ever, and ever!

PRAISE MY SOUL THE KING OF HEAVEN

A HYMN FOR THE FEAST OF CHRIST THE KING

By Henry Francis Lyte, 1834

1. Praise, my soul, the King of heaven; 
To His feet thy tribute bring. 
Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven, 
Who like me His praise should sing? 
Praise Him, praise Him, 
praise Him, praise Him, 
Praise the everlasting King.

2. Praise Him for His grace and favor 
To our fathers in distress. 
Praise Him still the same forever, 
Slow to chide, and swift to bless. 
Praise Him, praise Him, 
praise Him, praise Him, 
Glorious in His faithfulness.

3. Fatherlike He tends and spares us; 
Well our feeble frame He Knows. 
In His hands He gently bears us, 
Rescues us from all our foes. 
Praise Him, praise Him, 
praise Him, praise Him, 
Widely as His mercy goes.

4. Angels help us to adore Him; 
Ye behold Him face to face; 
Sun and moon, bow down before Him, 
Dwellers all in time and space. 
Praise Him, praise Him, 
praise Him, praise Him, 
Praise with us the God of grace.

LET NOT THE SUN GO DOWN

A SERMON FOR THE 19TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

“Be ye angry, and sin not.”  We’ve spoken about anger several times over the past couple of years, and I hope the message is sinking in that it’s okay to be angry, providing, 1) that your anger is justified, and 2) that it’s proportional to the offense, and 3) that you keep it under control.  We don’t shoot people because they cut us off as we’re driving to work.

You might think that anger is special in this regard.  That it’s not like gluttony or sloth or envy or those other deadly sins.  We can’t be gluttonous—drunk, for example—providing it’s justified, proportional and controlled, can we?  Justified… How can we ever begin to justify drunkenness?  Proportional?  What possible proportionate cause could there be to allow us to get drunk?  And as for controlled, surely the very fact that we’re drunk means that we did not control our drinking?

But if we think about it, most of these sins, like drunkenness (a form of gluttony) are sins simply because they lack a proportionate cause.  Lack of a proportionate cause can make what is usually a sinful act perfectly rational, permissible, and even sometimes encouraged.  We mentioned this in passing last week in connection with the sin of lust, which of course isn’t lust at all if it’s in the context of normal marital relations.  Sloth is not sloth if we’re sick and need a day in bed to help us get better.  Even drunkenness was excusable in the old days when there were no anasthetics, and doctors were happily sawing off limbs from patients who had nothing better than a whiskey bottle to moderate the pain.

We can go on forever thinking up examples of justifying acts which at first sight we would think are sinful.  When we look closer at these acts, we can clearly see that they are not sinful because there is a proportionate reason for performing them.  Today though, I’d like to focus a little more on the control aspect.  There are certain things we do, maybe even every day, which are not sinful at all, providing they are kept within moderation.  It’s not sinful to drink a glass or two of wine with our dinner.  But it is a sin if we guzzle down a whole bottle of vodka.  Drunkenness is simply the over-indulgence, the lack of moderation, in the drinking of alcohol.  Some crazy brands of Christians would like to tell us that drinking of any alcohol is wrong.  But if so, I wonder how they explain that our Lord turned water into wine at the marriage feast of Cana.  No, drunkenness is just a lack of moderation.

Moderation has many aspects.  Let’s zoom in on just one of them, and that is with respect to Time.  How much time do you spend on a particular act.  Sleep for eight hours and it’s a wonderful thing.  Spend your whole day in bed, not doing any cleaning or cooking or other duties of state you may have, and it becomes sloth.  

But today’s Epistle is about anger, and the command we have to be angry without sinning.  That’s partly to do with this idea of moderation.  And as we’re focusing on moderation as it relates to time, let’s remind ourselves of that old expression, that “time heals all wounds”.  And it’s true, but only if we let it.  Let’s be quite clear, there are some wounds that need a bit more than time to heal them.  Time will not heal wounds that are left to become infected.  On the contrary, the longer a wound is left to fester like this, the more dangerous it becomes.  Gangrene, ulcers, all manner of unpleasant results ensue over time, so that the condition of the wound becomes worse than when it was first inflicted.  

Deeper wounds are those of the soul.  We can leave these wounds to fester too, and the results are the same.  The wounds of anger provide us with an obvious example, and we have only to look at the current situation in the Middle East where a centuries-old animosity between Turkey and the Kurdish people reared up last week into full-blown warfare.  The same type of festering angry can be seen throughout the world on the national level, not only between infidels, but between Jews and Palestinians, and even between Christian peoples like the English and the Irish.  

Even closer to home, just over the river in Kentucky, there was the legendary feud between the Hatfields and the McCoys, in which thirteen members of the two families were killed and many more injured starting in the year 1863, after a dispute about which family was the rightful owner of a hog.  It was not until June 14, 2003 that the two families signed a formal truce.  “Be ye angry, and sin not?”  Sure, if Randolph McCoy’s pig really was stolen by old Floyd Hatfield, then he had a right to be angry.  The stealing of one’s property is a sin against justice, and gives you the right to be recompensed.  So anger was surely justified and proportionate.  But the sin comes when neither side could ever get over it, when time did not heal the wounds of anger, and neither party could come to an agreement about the wretched pig.  Surely at some point, the anger becomes disproportionate to the crime committed, and the parties involved should have shrugged their shoulders and just moved on with their lives?  To carry on a feud and harbor resentment like this from one generation to another, whether it’s at the personal or the national level, goes against the bounds of moderation that we are called to when handling our anger.  Anger can so easily descend into hatred, violence, and ultimately bitter resentment, which eventually feeds on itself, poisoning our own souls and not serving any useful purpose whatsoever.  It becomes disproportionate to the original offence.

How long should we remain angry, then, without sinning?  St. Paul suggests the following: “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath, neither give place to the devil.”  One of our daily tasks, therefore, should be to include in our night prayers, a heartfelt supplication to our Father in heaven that we might “forgive them that trespass against us”.  It’s part of that most familiar of prayers, of course, which if we ever take the trouble to think about what we’re saying, is a constant reminder that if we want to be forgiven by God for the manifold offences we commit against him, then we had better be equally forgiving to our own foes and adversaries.

I remember seeing an old movie once, I don’t remember its name, in which an elderly German couple would bicker with each other all day long.  They’d argue so badly, you’d think they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.  But over the fireplace on their mantelpiece, they kept a wood carving of two lovebirds that the old man had made, with the words “Lasset die Sonne nicht über eurem Zom untergehen” (Let not the sun go down upon your wrath).  The two birds faced away from each other, but they both stood on a metal rod that allowed them to swivel.  As the sun went down every night and it was time to go to bed, the old man and his wife would each turn one of the birds around, so that before they slept the two lovebirds were facing each other, their beaks affectionately touching.  And love and harmony was restored between them.  “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.”

How can we apply this to our other sins?  Simply by keeping in mind that we must not hold any attachment to them for any length of time.  By making an examination of conscience each night, bringing up in our own memory all the offences we have committed during the day against God, our neighbor and ourselves, and then by resolving never to commit those sins again, we are like the old German couple swiveling our soul around to face God again to be reminded of his love.  Have we indulged our envy of others, have we lied or cheated, have we gossiped, did we eat or drink too much?  Whatever the sin, it has the ability, like anger, to fester within our souls, to become embedded in our personality, taking over control of our behavior and values, turning us into a person focused on a life of self-indulgence rather than pleasing God.  That heartfelt act of contrition is our way of turning God’s little woodcarving, which is our soul, back to face the Creator and tell him that, in spite of all that has transpired during the previous day, we are still his loving children, determined to do our best to continue in that love as long as he gives us breath and life to do so.