What Is a King?

Melissa McNair-King

Sermon Preached November 24, 2024
Fairview Presbyterian Church in Lawrenceville, Georgia

John 18:33–37

Both the first and fourth grades at our elementary school have been studying the American Revolution in history class this fall. So for the past few months I’ve been hearing a lot about the king of England, the Articles of the Confederation, and the US Constitution. Our whole household is learning about checks and balances and the branches of government. In first grade there’s a lot about Thomas Jefferson, Lewis and Clark, and even Sacagawea! I don’t think I could even say Sacagawea when I was in the first grade, much less explain her significance.

There was a crossword puzzle for the fourth grade that I had to google half the answers to because there was no word bank and one of the answers was (now please imagine this many squares in the crossword) “popular sovereignty.” Which I doubt most adults could accurately define.

But it’s been an interesting topic leading up to this day when we talk a lot about kings and Christ THE King. Because what I have gathered from elementary US history is that having a king is usually a bad thing. 

We don’t want a king. We want to escape the tyranny of a king. And here we are using “king” as a metaphor and a title for the person we love the most, on whom we have staked our whole salvation.

Observing Christ the King Sunday started about a hundred years ago, in the 1920s. It was a time when changes were sweeping through Europe. The end of World War I had given rise to strong feelings of nationalism in European nations—this sense of staunch loyalty to one’s own nation. Country first kind of thing. 

Dictators were rising to power—especially Mussolini in Italy. He was using a secret police force to silence anyone who disagreed with him or opposed him, and within about five years of his appointment as prime minister (in 1922) he had consolidated the government’s power for himself as a dictator, commanding total control and allegiance. Mussolini is thought to be the inventor of fascism—this ideology by which the government has total control, and power is held very tightly by a small group to such an extreme that individual freedoms are no longer meaningful or tolerated.

So in 1925, when Pope Pius XI signed a statement to initiate the church’s celebration of this day we know as Christ the King Sunday, it was a bold move. Remember that popes live in Italy, as did Mussolini. The statement was a churchwide declaration that in the face of dictators and any earthly rulers there is only one true King. Christ is our king, and Christians are to follow him as Lord, and none other. Pope Pius wrote that he wanted Christ the King Sunday to give Christians courage. His goal was to strengthen all of us in the knowledge that Christ must reign in our hearts, minds, wills, and bodies.

So today, with Christians across the globe we insist again that Christ is the One we give our allegiance too, even when there is so much else competing for our devotion or loyalty.

“Then Pilate summoned Jesus, and asked him, ‘Are you the King of the Jews?’” It’s a strange conversation, to say the least. 

“Are you the king?” Pilate asks.

“Who wants to know?” says Jesus.

“Well. your own people handed you over. What did you do?”

“My kingdom is not from this world.”

“So . . . you are a king?”

Is he a king or not?! Pilate doesn’t seem to be very concerned with whether Jesus committed a crime; he just wants to know what kind of leader Jesus is, because he sure doesn’t act like the kings we know. And of course, Pilate wouldn’t really want competition for his reign in Judea.

I wish I could tell you that once Pope Pius XI established Christ the King Sunday so that we would all remember who our real Lord is, the Christian church was able to stay on track. But by 1933, eight years later, the Vatican and the Third Reich had signed an agreement with one another. Even though Pius XI was critical of the things Hitler was doing, he still signed a treaty with him and allowed a cardinal to negotiate its terms. 

But if that sounds bad, then wait until you hear what the Protestants were doing. 

Part of Hitler’s strategy was to unify the Protestant churches in Germany so that he could send his message to them with greater ease and authority. And it worked. Soon the majority of Protestant churches were under his thumb. The growing hatred toward the Jewish community, people with disabilities, immigrants, and anyone else who could be called “inferior” was largely spread through Christian pulpits. It’s easy to be seduced by the culture around us, easy to become afraid by scare tactics and propaganda. 

Then Pilate summoned Jesus and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” I guess it was hard to tell, since even Jesus’ own community had betrayed him. “Are you the King?”

In the midst of everything that was happening in Europe, a handful of Christians were brave enough to take a stand. Theologians like Karl Barth helped write a confession called the Theological Declaration of Barmen. It stated that Christ is always head of the church, and not the Fuhrer, not Hitler. We now include that confession within our own Presbyterian book of faith statements, the Book of Confessions.

One of Barth’s colleagues, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, was a German Lutheran pastor who also strongly resisted the Nazi regime. Two days after Hitler was installed as Germany’s chancellor, Bonhoeffer gave a radio address that warned Germans of slipping into idolatry of this leader; Bonhoeffer was soon taken to a concentration camp. His resistance eventually cost him his life.

“So . . . you are a king?” Not only is Christ a king, he is the King. But as Jesus answers Pilate, he tells him that his kingdom is different. “My kingdom is not of this world,” Jesus says. 

Jesus’ power does not depend on military strength. His authority is not claimed by violence. His leadership does not try to overpower or frighten; instead, Jesus’ whole ministry is about lifting up the lowly and comforting the outcast. 

He doesn’t look like the kings we know—he isn’t trying to rack up wealth or glory for himself; instead, he freely hands over his life. He wears thorns as a crown. His throne is a cross. His words are forgiveness and life and peace. It is a completely new definition for what strength actually looks like. And if we are part of that kingdom, then our lives should resemble it.

Who is our king? Would Pilate be able to tell? Or would he need to ask Jesus again: Are you sure you are a king? Even your own people have walked away. 

Friends, I pray that on this Christ the King Sunday, on this day that falls in the midst of Thanksgiving, family gatherings, and holiday preparation . . . and in this season of political division, deep fear, and endless violence, we would turn our eyes to our true king again. 

Take on the humility he modeled. Show love in the face of hatred. Tend to those who are hurting. Stand up with those who are outcasts. Offer your life toward the kingdom that is not of this world, until the day when God’s will is done “on earth as it is in heaven.” Thanks be to God.