The Measure of Our Politics Is Given to Us on the Cross
The Solemnity of Our Lord Christ, King of the Universe
Christ teaches in Matthew’s Gospel that: For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you (7:2). And those words mean—in at least one way—that we must make a choice when deciding how to live our lives. We need for our lives a measure, a standard—for the thoughts we think, for the desires we possess, for the feelings that we experience, for the actions that we perform, for the commitments that we make—we need a measure, a standard for our lives. And the question that Christ places before us is simple enough: will you choose a measure of your own—a standard for life of your own creation, constructed from the raw material of your thoughts, your desires, your feelings, your actions and commitments—or will you choose the measure for life given to us by Christ?
These thoughts about choosing a measure for life are on my mind as our Church celebrates the Solemnity of Our Lord Christ the King because to claim that Christ is our king necessarily asks a question: By what measure—what standard—is Christ a king? What does it mean to be a king? How should a king live? What is the measure of good king?Is Christ a king by the measure of politics and power in our world, or by some standard of kingship that he gives us himself? To call Christ our king confronts us with a problem. If Christ is a king by the measure of politics and power in our world, then we are making a claim about Christ. But if Christ is a king by way of a standard for kingship that he gives to us, then Christ is making a claim about political life and power in our world.
Maybe I can clarify my thoughts on the kingship of Christ with some poetry. The other day, I was listening to an Irish folk song when I was struck by the lyrics: Now kings will rule / And the poor will toil / And tear their hands / As they tear the soil. Hearing those words, it became clear to me that Christ is not a king by the measure of politics and power in our world. Across the centuries and throughout history there have been good kings and leaders—saints of God—who have given their lives in service to their people and who committed themselves wholeheartedly to the building up of the common good. But no king—no leader—in human history that I know of has lived a life of poverty and physical labor. The reality of politics and power in our world is that kings and leaders rule with a measure of comfort and security that is not extended to the poor. The poor toil—labor—with a desperation that kings and leaders in our world do not know, and perhaps have never known.
The Gospels reveal to us that Christ is a king who labors in desperation and who accepts for himself the realities of poverty. The soldiers and rulers of our Gospel today mock Christ—ridicule Christ—by hanging an inscription upon the cross naming him “The King of the Jews.” And there in that moment of scorn and derision the measure of kingship is placed before us: the kings of our world do not hang on crosses, broken and bloodied, for the sake of others. The reversal of the measure of politics and power courses throughout the Gospel narratives. The parable of the vineyard in Chapter 20 of Matthew’s Gospel gives to us a master of the vineyard—a ruler, a king—who works harder than any hired laborer for the good of the vineyard. Five times the master of the vineyard goes out for good of the vineyard, working dawn till dusk for the sake of the land with which he is entrusted. And there in that parable, again, the measure of kingship is placed before us: the kings of our world do not labor alongside hired workers and fieldhands. No one makes the reversal of the measure of politics and power more clear to us than St. Paul, who tells us that Christ forgoes equality with God so that he might take the form of a slave—a slave who dies on a cross—and that to this king every knee must bow. The kingdom of God, as we are told by St. Paul in his Letter to the Colossians today, is in this world, but the kingdom of God is not of this world: our king makes peace by the blood of his cross.
Maybe it sounds like I am condemning the politics and power of our world. I am. The measure of politics in our world—a measure fashioned from our thoughts and desires, from our feelings and actions and commitments—leads again and again to corruption, violence, brokenness, and sin. The other day I was listening to an interview with the scripture scholar Robert Alter who was asked: Does the Bible think a stable political order is possible? The immediate answer came: “No.” The authors of scripture take seriously the divine election of patriarchs, judges, and kings, but the authors of scripture are also historical realists: the authors of scripture know that the use of a human standard for politics and power always results in dissolution and decay. And we know this is true. We see the corruption in our nation—we see the corruption in our Church—that comes from the use of a human measure for politics and power.
Here is what we need to remember most: at the moment of our baptism we are anointed with sacred oil and conformed to the life of Christ who is priest, prophet, and king. There in our baptism promises is the rejection of the human measure of politics and power. There in our baptismal promises is a commitment to the standard of kingship given to us by Christ. But we in the Church today have become too comfortable with a failure to live out our baptismal promises, electing instead to accept the abuse of power and the brokenness politics in our world as a necessary evil for the sake of some greater good. We love the theater of politics and the drama of power. We lament corruption and sin—in our nation, in our Church—while in the recesses of our hearts we desperately want our side “to win,” and claim that our desire is rooted in a love for truth and goodness and beauty.
And you know, there is much that is good in those desires. We ought to love the truth. We ought to desire what is good and cherish what is beautiful. We ought to want our side “to win” for the sake of what is true and good and beautiful. But we are given a measure for the use of politics and power by Christ, a measure that we cannot forget and that we can no longer ignore. And the measure of politics and power for Christ—”winning” according to the standard of God—is a matter of hanging broken and bloodied on a cross. There is our king, and there is real kingship.
Homily preached November 19th/20th at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary