Solemnity of Christ the King at Mississippi Abbey
Scripture Readings: 2 Sam 5:1-3; Col 1:12-20; Lk 23:35-43
One afternoon in December, 1953, reporters and city officials were gathered at the Chicago train station to welcome a Nobel Peace Prize winner. When he stepped off the train they saw a giant of a man, six-feet-four inches tall, with bushy hair and a large mustache. Cameras flashed as they approached him with outstretched hands, saying how honored they were to receive him. He thanked them politely and then, looking over their heads, asked to be excused for a moment.
Quickly walking through the crowd he came to the side of an elderly African-American woman who was struggling as she carried two suitcases to a bus. He took them with his big hands and, smiling, escorted the woman to the door of the bus. After helping her get on, he wished her a safe journey. When the crowd of officials and reporters came up behind him, he turned and said, “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
That was Albert Schweitzer, a Christian missionary and medical doctor who spent his life serving people in Gabon, Africa. He was practicing what he preached: the love and humble service of Christ the King for the poor and the needy, especially for the sick. He was a doctor and a surgeon, pastor of a congregation, an internationally known organist, author of scholarly books, administrator of a village, and a commentator on contemporary history. With funds earned from his own royalties, personal appearances and donations, he 
expanded his primitive hospital to seventy buildings where he treated his patients as Christ.
Today’s feast presents us with a King who came not to be served but to serve, and to die on a cross so that we could be members of his royal family. In Christ, each one of us is a prince or a princess, destined to inherit a kingdom.
In today’s gospel Christ our King dies between two thieves. While others mocked and jeered at Jesus, the good thief looked deeper into the meekness of Christ and recognized a King, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” And Jesus replied, “Today, you will be with me in paradise.” In that moment the thief really did become a prince, a sharer in Christ’s own kingship.
Contrast the last moments of the good thief and the crucified Jesus with the last moments of some worldly kings and queens. Queen Elizabeth the First of England cried out from her death bed that she would give all her possessions for a little more time. Charles the Ninth, who ordered the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre throughout France, exclaimed: “Blood and murders! I am lost forever, I know it, I know it.” Philip the Third of Spain lived with indifference to the plight of his people. But when he was near death he said, “Would to God I had never reigned. What does all my glory profit me? It torments me now that I am dying.” Stalin’s own daughter described his death. She said, “A stroke left him unable to speak. At his very last moment he cast an angry glance over everyone in the room. It was a terrible glance, insane and full of the fear of death. With one final menacing gesture he lifted his fist against us, as if he were trying to bring down a curse on us all.”
These worldly sovereigns dreaded death. They cursed and they wept. How different are the loving words of Christ the King as he was dying on the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Dr. Albert Schweitzer manifested his Christian nobility when he chose to help an elderly woman with her suitcases. That was far more important to him than being honored by city officials and reporters. He must have made similar choices of humble service thousands of times throughout his life. May we also have the grace of the humble nobility and service of Christ, and let us make the prayer of the good thief our own, “Lord, remember me when you come in your kingdom.”
Solemnity of Christ the King at Mississippi Abbey
Scripture Readings: Ez 34:11-12, 5-17; 1 Cor 15:20-26, 28; Mt 25:31-46
Growing up, we all learned about kings. There were bad, tyrannical kings and there were good, kindly kings. Kings ruled over an area of land called a kingdom. More precisely, they ruled over the people who lived in that land.All were dependent on the king and they varied in their acceptance of that dependence. According to that acceptance of dependence, the kind of king who ruled over them became a big part of their identity.
Now the difference between good kings and bad kings was whether they put their faith in seeking their own advantage or that of others. It was a difference in ethics.Placing faith in this ethical orientation to advantage-seeking, Jesus is telling us today, must constitute the whole identity of those who call Him “King.” Those who want to be in Jesus’ kingdom must seek the advantage of others. The “Others” He indicates are those who, like Himself, are commonly scapegoated. Scapegoating is what we do in an effort to avoid poverty of spirit that accompanies powerlessness and acknowledgment of our dependence. It is a pathetic form of self-transcendence. Its purpose is to bring peace to a community, “the peace that the world gives.” The cross exposes this as “the sin of the world.”Christ, as a scapegoat, accepted the consequences of sin on behalf of others. The hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the poorly clothed, the sick, and the imprisoned do the same thing: they accept the consequences of sin on behalf of others, though perhaps not as gracefully as Jesus did.
Now identification is most important. To identify is to feel that you are similar to someone and can understand them or their situation.
What gathers us together today is the remarkable fact that we identify with—are affected by—this self-giving, other-regarding man we choose to call our king. We identify with Him even though we lack the power to imitate such radical unselfishness.
We are irresistibly drawn to it. It is a shared affection that forms us as a community. Because it forms us as a community we identify with the king and with members of His kingdom: the hungry, thirsty, etc. In a word, we identify around mercy. Mercy comes from empathy and, as St. Bernard tells us, empathy is the link between humility and love.
If we are to identify with Christ the merciful King, in His regard for the advantage of others, what must happen? First, we must love our king and those whom He loves. Second, Identity must influence action: who we are leads to what we must do. Mercy is a matter of ethics. If it is a reality that one has “put on Christ,” that “I live now not I, but Christ lives in me,” then one has become a living sacrifice and must lead her life in a specific way. This is the motor that drives our spirituality. But motors are known to fail, i.e., we fail miserably. Then two things happen: first, our exposed weakness and its consequent poverty of spirit give us cause to identify with one another as dependent members of the kingdom; the Body of Christ. Second, the experience of God’s power made perfect in our weakness gratifies our dependence and deepens our identity as sharers in that kingdom. It is then that we experience a contrast to the peace that the world gives. We experience the peace of Christ. As we will pray at Communion, “Peace I leave you, my peace I give you.” Apart from this experience we become a gathering of Pharisee’s, impressed that we manage well and admiring the distance between ourselves and the others.
This whole process of identification and its ethical effect on the sort of person we become is rooted in faith. Faith, as St. Paul tells us, is the appropriate human response to the gospel of our king and to His supreme act of self-giving. This grows out of love for the king. Love means trust and faithfulness. In other words, faith is the response to God’s initiative that opens the gates of self to God’s transforming power.
Solemnity of Christ the King at Mississippi Abbey
Scripture Readings: 2 Sam 5:1-3; Col 1:12-20; Lk 23:35-43
“Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” “Today, you will be with me in paradise.”
Contrast the last words of the good thief and the crucified Jesus with the last words of some worldly kings and queens. Queen Elizabeth the First of England cried out from her death bed that she would give all her possessions for a little more time. Charles the Ninth, who ordered the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre throughout France, exclaimed: “Blood and murders! I am lost forever, I know it, I know it.” Philip the Third of Spain lived with indifference to the plight of his people. But when he was near death he said, “Would to God I had never reigned. What does all my glory profit me? It torments me now that I am dying.” The daughter of Stalin described his death. She said, “A stroke had left him unable to speak. At the very last moment he cast a glance over everyone in the room. It was a terrible glance, insane, angry, and full of the fear of death. With one final menacing gesture he lifted his left fist as if he were trying to bring down a curse on us all.”
These worldly sovereigns dreaded death. They cursed and they wept as it drew near. The loving words of Christ our King, as he was dying on the cross, are so different: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And, “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
We know that the kingdom of Satan is opposed to the kingdom of Christ. But what really scares me about Satan’s kingdom is that no one in it can ever do anything good, or say anything kind, or think anything loving. They have lost the ability to think, say, or do a single good thing in hell. Their freedom to choose goodness is lost forever.
In our daily lives we can still make choices between these two kingdoms. But at death we will belong entirely to one kingdom or the other forever. Have you ever thought about what your last words might be? Here are a few from the saints and martyrs.
St. Joan of Arc (Martyr): “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!”
St. Kateri Tekakwitha: “Jesus, I love you.”
St. Maria Goretti: “I forgive Alessandro Serenelli [her murderer] … and I want him with me in Heaven forever.”
St. Therese of Lisieux: “I cannot suffer any more, because all suffering is sweet to me. My God, I love You.”
St. Thomas More: “I die the king’s good servant, but God’s first.”
St. Bernadette Sourbirous: “Holy Mary, pray for me, a poor sinner.”
Pope St. John Paul II: “Let me go to the house of the Father.”
St. Dominic Savio:” I am seeing the most wonderful things!”
St. Anthony of Padua: “I see my Lord.”
And finally, St. Miguel Pro, S.J., the Mexican Jesuit Martyr who died on Nov. 23, 1927, two years after Pius XI established today’s feast. As he faced the firing squad he stretched out his arms in the sign of the Cross and said: “Long live Christ the King!”